


The House On 7th Avenue

by SisterWine



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s gangsters and dolls, And enemies closer, Bootleggers, Denver Murder Mystery, Edwardian era, Election Day, F/M, Family Secret, Family is everything, Gen, Ghosts, House For Sale, Keep your family close, Lost Soul, Love in waiting, Love of a hundred years, Murder Mystery, Old West, Tragic Love, Two worlds come together, Victorian era, husband and wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 106,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterWine/pseuds/SisterWine
Summary: Summary: A recently divorced mother of two and her children move into an old Victorian, in a new city, and shortly find a mystery that has been waiting 100 years to be solved.Disclaimer: The thought and characters of this story are mine. No buying, selling, trading of fics or ideas of any kind allowed. Copyrighted 2016. Mention of Betty Boop and likeness belongs to her creator, Max Fleischer, with Grim Natwick. Copyrighted 1930.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Thanks to Betray802, consultant.

The imposing, wide solid oak door opened with a snap and several small squeaks, crudely inviting the realtor and her clients in from the damp Spring air. "This was just put back on the market. The estate was on loan to the State of Colorado but......." she paused and bit her lip, "due to lack of funding, the owner decided to sell." Olivia Henderson, of Powell Realty, stood in the doorway and watched the mother of two and her son and daughter step inside and begin to explore the grand foyer of the home. "The floors and stairs, leading to all three levels, and landings have been restored. The front door has a twin door to open, with this little latch, at the bottom." Bending down and pointing to the small lip that lifted from a nook, inside the closed door, she glanced up to see the woman standing in the middle of the room, watching her. As she straightened, she noted the young boy of 12 make his way into the parlour and the 15 year old daughter sit down on the second to bottom step and pay attention to her phone, rather than the house.

For an early 20th century Victorian house, nestled in the Historic part of Denver, the foundation had held up fairly well. A modest home of red brick and oak trim, on the outside and spacious and smooth, rounded edges on the inside. Fresh wood flooring, colour-matched original paint touch-ups and several wall replacements over the years had to be painstakingly handled by only a few carpenters who understood the era of the building. Rooms separated by elegant french door with frosted glass, had been re-stained and glassed from years of neglect and water damage from the roof leak, two years prior. A great glass chandelier hung from he ceiling of the foyer by strong brass chains. Long, crystal prism tear drops seemed to drip from the circular frame. It had been placed in the attic, during the 1940s, as the country bounded off to war and the family hadn't wanted to expose it to the element of thieves. 

Karen Eppley, and her two children, had sought out the agency from Denver, after suffering a bitter divorce. She turned back, from staring at the long, polished oak banister that led up to the first landing, before curving and continuing on to the second floor. "This can't be within my budget. Are you sure this was in the file?" She clutched the strap of her small, brown cloth purse and blinked at the gentle expression of the lady that stepped inside and closed the door.

"I'm sure the family would be willing to work with you." Olivia smiled and waved a hand to the parlour, where Josh, a young baseball fanatic wandered. The giant archways that separated the foyer and adjoining rooms had been painted a bright white. The wallpaper had been removed as it seemed 40 years out of date. "The floors in the parlour and kitchen area are all original. The family has made sure to retrofit the home with updated plumbing and wiring so, everything is up to code. They've even replaced the water heater, in the basement so, no need to boil the water, first."

Josh made his way to the high-arched fireplace, that had been as tall as him, and peered up, into the blackness of the chimney. His ears picked up the soft murmurs of his mother's voice as she and Olivia toured the rest of the downstairs. Pulling back and staring at the maplewood mantle, a feeling in the back of his mind told him he wasn't alone. He turned to see a shadow standing by the window, watching him. Jumping, as his eyes caught a tall man disappear from the room. The room was empty of furniture, save for elegant candle sconces, in the four corners. His shoes hushed the tapping on the wood flooring as he walked out, past his sister, still sitting on the step, texting madly to her friends from Boulder, and began to climb the steps to the second floor.

The master bedroom sat off to the left of the long hallway, spacious and oddly shaped, with a bay window that was almost its own room, looking out, over the front yard. This one, much like the four smaller rooms, were empty of furniture. The second floor bathroom was slightly bigger than a closet, with the antique tub and shower sitting past the door, off to the right and the rounded stand alone column sink with an oval mirror, hanging from a gold chain, above it, sitting to the left. Josh stared at the small, white toilet before sighing, unimpressed with the clean, white subway tile that rose halfway up the wall, from the floor, to the mirror. A creaking sound, from the floor above, caught his ear. Lifting his head to stare at the ceiling, his mouth twisted in question.

Josh quietly made his way to the end of the hall, opposite direction from the stairs leading to the first floor, where the only closed door had been. He swallowed shallowly and slowly reached for the antique white knob, turning it and opening the door leading to the attic. A small round window with original blown glass lit the steep, 12 steps to another door on the left, a light was coming from underneath. Movement caught his eye and dared him to continue up the stairs, to the closed door. He paused on the landing and reached out to place his hand on the knob. A sound from behind him made him jump.

"What are you doing, up here?" Kristy, his older sister, had placed her mobile phone in her backpocket and was now standing on the third step up.

Sighing in relief, Josh shrugged and turned back to the door. "I heard something."

"Rats." She said, sounding unimpressed. "You heard rats."

Josh flashed his sister a look of disbelief and turned the knob. "Rats don't sound like human footsteps, idiot." Pushing the door open had been a chore as the frame had warped and the hinges needed oiling. The first two floors had been void of dust and cobwebs and, from Josh's assumptions, he knew where the cleaning crew had emptied them into. A deep gray carpeted the wood boards of the floor and a heavy musty smell weighted the air down as they both stood in the doorway. 

Kristy peered in, over his shoulder, noting the different sections of discarded possessions. "Well, go inside, stupid." With a shove on his back, she nudged her little brother inside. Rolls of carpet from several separate decades leaned against the far wall, to the left of them, beside one octagonal window with dirt-caked glass that watched over the Conservatory, in the backyard. An old thin-wire bedframe leaned against the opposite wall, with an old mattress standing next to it. Her eye caught something shiny, and she brushed passed an awed Josh, to investigate. "Boxes of books. They look from the 60s. A pair of metal skates and.... hn, a jar of marbles and buttons." Stopping next to the twin window of the one facing the backyard, she bent down and peered inside several boxes before browsing over a small, three-shelf bookshelf.

"Hey, neat!" Josh had snooped his way to the back of the room where several, century old trunks sat forgotten among layers of dust, papers and odd-shaped picture frames. "Kris, c'mere!" he called, motioning for his sister to join him. His head had remained focused in the direction of the trunks. "Look! This has to be a hundred years old, easy!" He had made his way over to and dug out what appeared to be an old fashioned child's toy of wooden building blocks, complete with wooden carrying wagon and old string handle. He had busied himself with finding more toys that sat next to a large, gray trunk with rounded edges, while his sister became curious of the stacks of newspapers and collection of old photographs and frames.

Kristy crouched down and balanced herself on the balls of her feet, careful not to touch more than she needed to. Letting her fingers walk through the photographs, she came across an old photo of a young man in his late 20s, with blond or light hair, as the photo had yellowed and darkened from age. "He's cute." Her eyes filtered over the man in the photo's face; a soft face with sad, dark eyes that seemed to look through you, a thin nose and a small but inviting mouth. His hair had been a bit longer than normal, for the time with the length draping below his broad shoulders. A small tuft of bangs scooped over the right side of his forehead. The white of his shirt managed to stand out from behind the dark overlay of his wool jacket. Kristy let her eyes wander over the rest of the photo before turning it over to look for a name. It had been a little bigger than a postcard but not quite enough to fill a 5x7 frame. Finding a scrawl of letters somewhere near the bottom, she scrunched her eyes and stared at the jumble. "Matthew Tyler Jenson, 1903."

Josh stopped what he was doing and poked his head over her left shoulder. "Hey, I've seen that guy somewhere."

Tossing her long, thick brunette hair over her shoulder, Kristy smirked. "Yea, a music video, maybe."

Josh sat back on his heels. "No! I mean here." Just then, a jar full of glass marbles shuffled a few inches on the wooden shelf and dropped to the floor, sending marbles and glass everywhere. The crash had captured both of their attention and caused them to fall silent and stare at the bookshelf for any movement.

A sigh as Kristy raised an eyebrow. "See. Rats."

"What are you two doing up here?" The voice of their mom cut through the air and made the two children jump. Karen stood there, in the doorway, with Olivia in tow, and looked around the filthy room.

Smiling proudly, Josh got to his feet and brushed off the dust on his knees, from kneeling. "Mom, look! A whole box of them!" He held up a smaller box of wooden dominoes and a few of the building blocks. Beaming a smile, he missed Olivia's furrowed brow, as she stepped into the room.

Taking a closer look at where he stood, Olivia also noticed the old, faded photograph, in Kristy's hand. "Oh, those must have belonged to him," nodding to the photograph Kristy held. "Alot of his things are up here. The house belonged to him. I don't know if the family wants them or not." Olivia stepped forward and held out her hand to the offered photo.

"Who was he? Some big singer, or something?" Kristy questioned.

Sighing and shaking her head, Olivia's gaze hadn't moved from Matthew's face. "No. He was a bookkeeper for a law firm that went out of business about 35 years ago. His uncle was well-known around Denver. Shame about him, though." She stared at his face and smiled weakly. She had heard the stories of what happened and several different versions of so-called eye-witness accounts of Matthew's last days but, a nagging feeling told her not to believe what was said.

"Why?" Kristy asked.

"Well," a defeated sigh, "he died, tragically, not long after this photo was taken."

Karen nodded in understanding and checked her watch. "Oh, we've got to get going. I have to be at work in a few hours." Stepping aside for her children to pass her to go back downstairs, she waited for Olivia to place the photo down, on the closed trunk lid and then close the attic door so they could walk down together and discuss the several other houses on the list. She had been skeptical about choosing this particular house as it seemed much too fancy for her small budget, after the divorce. "Let's look at the others, on the list. I don't know about this one."

********

Moving boxes and furniture stuffed the parlour and sitting room. The smell of pizza and greasy cardboard filled the air of the kitchen as the sulfuric wisps of blown out candles dissipated from the parlour. Night four of move in and all three of them had retired early out of exhaustion or needing alone time, to refresh. They had spent what few breaks they had taken stringing white linen drapes in the windows and walking to the antique store, a few blocks over, for curtain rods that were consistent with the era of the house.

Karen had taken the liberty of researching homes of the early 1900s and ordering several replacement sconces and new cushions for the rooms with bay windows and nooks. She had painstakingly sorted through all of the assorted knobs of several antique shops and rummage sales, prior to moving in. Her contacts at the Boulder Library had pointed her in the right direction of touching up the aging home but also letting her own furniture fit in. 

They had placed the downstairs furniture and ordered a new refrigerator as the previous tenants had taken their appliances with them. A small microwave and coffee pot sat in the corner of the long, white marble countre top. Kristy had scrubbed the cupboards, inside and out, before unpacking the dishware. She hadn't enjoyed using her Spring Break for moving and other household chores, let alone moving away from her friends and dad.

Josh had made his bed and set up his 30" flat screen to watch the Detroit Tigers take on the Houston Astros. He dozed between coverage, from moving excitement. He had taken the room between the attic door and the bathroom. Boxes filled one half of his room while the other half had been reserved for his upright, five drawer dresser and small work desk. His suitcases of clothes and bedding were stacked on the opposite side of the room, patiently waiting to be unloaded. He had fallen asleep with his head at the foot of his bed and pillow on the floor. The small lamp, on the bedside table was on and flickered briefly.

The room across from the master bedroom had been chosen by Kristy, as it was slightly bigger than Josh's appointed room. She had taken a hot shower and dried herself before dressing and exiting the bathroom. Blow-drying and combing her hair, Kristy texted her friends and listened to the relaxing saxophone and Seger singing a song about the hardships of being a rockstar and touring. It had been her dad's favourite music and, before they left Boulder, he had given her the CD to borrow. Propped up by a pillow, at the head of her queen-sized bed, she scribbled madly into her journal the differences between the two cities and living arrangements. Her small, black boombox with dual CD spots sat atop her white dressing table, placed against a wall, next to the elegant dresser that had been passed down to her, from her grandmother. 

For a typical teenager, she had been grounded in the respect and understanding of antiquities as her mother had worked for one of the best restoration houses, in Boulder. Her admiration for art; however, was upstaged by being a teenager and she had begun to rarely look up from her mobile to look at the richness of the decor around her. She sighed and closed her book, placing it and the pen on the bed, beside her, to tend to her freshly paints toenails. Removing the cottonballs between her toes, and fanning the nails of her left foot with her hand, she looked up as her twin bedside lamps flickered. The air around her had gotten cooler and a wispy breeze chilled her arms. Climbing off of the bed and walking on her heels over to where a small, ceramic space heater sat, atop of a metal garden chair, and turned it up one more notch. Sighing and shivering, as she stood there in her fuzzy pink Betty Boop pajama shorts and long-sleeved shirt with Betty in her famous pose and black dress.

Karen worked tirelessly at setting up her room. To fill the space, not used by her mother's maplewood and cedar lined, six-drawer vanity dresser, she had lined up tall bookshelves and had busied herself with unpacking and shelving her books. "I know, Jo, and I'm sorry. Mark wasn't making the separation easy for anyone. The kids don't deserve that kind of stress and he was just being an ass about it." She paused to listen to what her sister was saying, on the other end of her mobile. Wedging the Blackberry between her ear and shoulder, she pulled the last few, thick books on antique decorations and designs, from the small box and placed them on the second shelf up. Shifting positions, she sat on the floor and grabbed hold of her mobile, again. "So far, it looks good. The kids found some old area rugs and a settee, left over from the original owner, in the attic. I think I'll take pictures of them down to work, this weekend, and see if we can't clean them. Also, I need to find a few more things Mark was supposed to give me, in the divorce." She sighed and yawned as the long day had caught up with her. "I'll try and call you tomorrow. I know the kids would love to see you all, again." After telling her sister goodbye, she readied for bed.

After climbing into bed and turning off the light, she fell into an exhausted, motionless sleep. Shivering but being too tired to pull the knit blanket that had been draped at the bottom of the bed, she sighed and nestled herself further under her covers. A heavy oak, short poster queen bed with a tall, carved headboard sat against the wall, closest to the door. Two art deco chairs placed in front of the fireplace, atop a large area rug she had picked up at a garage sale had been arranged in the middle of the room, give the massive room more of a lived-in feel. Tiredly, she had opened her eyes, briefly but long enough to see a dark figure pull the brown knit blanket, from the end of the bed, and cover her with it. "Thank you, baby. Night." The smell of fresh linen and body soap from her shower helped ease her "new home" jitters.

 

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

Karen stood on the last stair before the landing, in front of the door to the attic. In her right hand, she held the key to the door and stood there, debating opening it and going inside to look around. She had dressed to get dirty, right down to the baby blue bandana on her head, tied so that it covered her short, light brown hair. Some old blue jeans and a gray T-shirt with the words "Absolute Relaxaholic" scrawled in white lettering across the front. Slip on shoes without socks had given her the feeling of her teenage years and she smiled at her reflection, when she caught a glimpse of herself in passing. A cold shiver surged down her back as she reached for the doorhandle and slipped the key into the lock. With a breath of determination, she turned the key and opened the door. 

"At least they kept the junk separate." The murmur had escaped her before she realised she had been alone and afraid of her own voice. Karen walked over to stand in the middle of the room and look around. She glanced over each pile of discarded items separated by small spaces of four inches of dust. She turned her head to stare at the dirt-frosted window that faced the front yard and estimated the time it would take to clear a path to clean it. Sighing and looking down at the floor, she settled for clearing most of the dust, first, since both windows were blocked and probably covered in spiderwebs and such. 

At nine-thirty in the morning, on a Monday, Karen had swept and waded through the grime to weed out the broken lamps and rolls of hideous wallpapers obviously from the 60s and had filled several big black trashbags, which she placed in the middle of the room. For four solid hours, she dusted, swept and bagged debris until she finally made it to cleaning both windows. When the window that overlooked the Conservatory was clean, she removed her extra pair of dishgloves that she used for cleaning and sat down on the top stair just outside the door. A heavy sigh as she unscrewed the cap of her bottled water and took a long drink. She had been proud of herself for doing so much on a room, she was sure no one would go in or even think of but, the thought of an attic full of discarded junk caked in dust and other things made her stomach churn.

At three in the afternoon, she threw away the last full trashbag of rusted holiday decorations and molded over children's books and papers and gathered up her pile of old photographs she had set aside to be cleaned and reframed and closed the door behind her. Karen checked the time and found an empty file box she had used for moving and placed the photos inside before hurrying into the shower to clean up before picking up Kristy and Josh from school.

********

After another week of unpacking, sorting, cleaning and placing, all three had tiredly made it to Sunday night. Brand new appliances had arrived on Saturday and Kristy had been overjoyed to be able to do laundry. Finishing folding her clothes and placing them in their proper drawers, she sat down on her bed and took a deep breath. Realising she had forgotten to shut off the kitchen light, Kristy plugged her mobile in and stood up to go back down stairs. 

From the fourth step down, Kristy froze when she heard voices coming from the kitchen. Her eyes widened as she heard the creak of the floorboards and she inhaled out of fear that it might be thieves. She turned quickly as she heard Josh's bedroom door open and him step out. Placing a finger to her lips and holding up a hand to tell him to stop. Turning back to look at the bottom of the stairs, half expecting to see an armed thief coming up the stairs, Kristy took a step back up and reached for her brother's Slugger, he had grabbed before coming out of his room. As he stepped cautiously forward to hand it to her, she whispered for him to stay upstairs and call the police, before she turned, once again and started slowly down the stairs.

Josh huffed and quietly followed behind his sister, balling his hands to fists, in case a fight started. 

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, to catch her breath, Kristy whirled around to find Josh hadn't done what she told him to but instead followed and bumped into her, not realising she had stopped. "What are you doing? I told you to call the police?" She hissed. Her knees trembled as the voices in the kitchen continued. Wearing a pair of blue boxers and T-shirt, she shivered and stiffened before taking another breath and clutching the bat tighter. 

"Right and wake mom up with a gazillion cops in the house? We can take 'em." Josh snapped back.

Flashing her brother an angry look, Kristy waved him on. "Stay close." She turned and edged forward, clutching the bat so tight she thought she would break it. The two of them made their way slowly and steadily towards the kitchen but as they made it to the doorway, the voices had stopped. Peering inside, she quickly scanned the room and found no one in the kitchen. Kristy had absently taken two steps into the room and furrowed her brow. "Where'd they go?" After whispering for so long, her normal tone broke the silence.

"Basement?" Josh said from standing in the doorway.

Kristy shook her head. "Hinges need oiling." Feeling confused, she lowered the bat from a defensive stance and glanced around, once more. "Hello?" Waiting for a few minutes with no answer, she turned to her brother and offered it back to him. "I know I heard voices."

"Maybe, it was the ghost."

Kristy gave him an unamused look and shifted from one foot to another. "Ghost? There's no such things as ghosts."

Josh scoffed at his sister. "Are ya sure? It's not like we'd see them, or anything."

"Positive."

"I'm afraid he's right." A disembodied voice came from a few feet away, where the table and chairs had been placed, overlooking the backyard. "There are ghosts. Two of us, actually." Appearing as the two teens turned their heads to look, the woman smiled. She sat in the chair with her back to the window and leaned on her elbows, that rested on the table. She stood but paused as Kristy moved to stand between the woman and her brother, arms out in an effort to protect him. "Oh, darling, I'm not going to harm you." Her dress sparkled and shimmered with her movements.

Josh's face lit up as he smiled and beamed a "told you so" look over at his sister. "Cool! A real, live ghost!"

Kristy flashed him a sympathetic look. "Ghosts aren't alive, moron."

"You know what I mean." Josh snapped back at his sister. He turned back to the woman, still standing next to the honeywood table and chairs. "You said there was two of you. Who's the other one?"

Kristy looked at the woman's style of gown and answered sarcastically, "probably, Gatsby."

The woman's laugh filled the room. "I'm Tabby, by the way." Spreading her arms to show off her creme-coloured Sheba dress with intricately laid-in white beads and sequins. She smiled stepped forward, dropping her arms. "Let's see. I died in 1931. He died in the Stone Age." Picking at her partner ghost, she grinned and waited for him to say something. Short brown hair and green coloured eyes seemed to catch the light as she turned her head to the doorway.

"Tabitha." A calm voice cautioned the woman. 

Turning, Josh scanned the darkness of the adjoining formal dining room but didn't see anyone. "Who's he?" His always present blue baseball cap hooded his eyes from the bright light of the kitchen. The voice sounded from above him but hadn't sounded like anyone he knew.

Tabby dropped her shoulders in an annoyed fashion. "Oh, Matthew! Come out, darling, they're only children."

"Matthew." Kristy repeated, as if not believing the name that was mentioned. "You mean the guy from the old and moldy picture, upstairs?"

"Don't ya mean your 'rockstar'?" Josh chided his sister.

"Shut up."

Tabby grinned. "That's him. A doll, isn't he?" She had longed to have another female to chat with about girl things but, through the years, hadn't found one she liked or one that had stayed. "Alright, Matthew. You know pouting is really childish, for a grown man." Snickering and lowering her voice as she spoke to Kristy and her brother, "he hates when I call him on that."

Sighing and slowly fading to sight, the man from the photo, wearing the same clothing as the photo, leaned against the frame, on his right shoulder, with his arms crossed. "I am not pouting. I just don't think it's right." His face held more emotion than his photo version. Pale, thin features and long blond hair made him look more modern than a man from the early 1900s. 

"You died a long time ago, darling. Let it go." Tabby quirked an eyebrow at Matthew and cocked her head to the side. "They didn't call it the Gilded Age for nothing, doll."

"Um," Kristy spoke up, maintaining a safe distance from both ghosts and standing closer to her brother. "Let what go?"

Tabby sighed heavily. "He means his things, in the attic. Your mommy dearest has been removing them from his house and," she paused to give a sigh of feigned hurt, "he doesn't like it." She laughed shortly and noticed him roll his eyes.

Matthew pushed off of the frame and stepped around, behind Kristy and Josh, to stand beside Tabby. "How did you hear us when no one else has?" His arms still crossed about his broad chest and the deepest ocean blue eyes stared down at the two children. His curiosity had spiked when Josh had followed him into the attic.

Both Kristy and Josh shrugged and shook their heads. They looked at each other for a moment. "You mean, no one has ever heard you two laughing and carrying on?" Kristy spoke up and was more than confused by the question. She had seen several ghost hunting shows and listened to the plethora of so-called evidence tapes but had never heard one for herself. As for them standing in front of she and her brother, she couldn't decide if it was some sort of cruel joke or a very realistic dream they were having.

"Not without those ridiculous gadgets they're always carting around." In the past century that he had been trapped in the house, there had been countless people determined to find out what happened or just to scare the daylights out of neighbourhood children. Matthew's death had been a local mystery and he had often been the topic of speculation, prompting him to remain silent when living beings entered his home. Yet, there had been several occasions where he had tried to reach out to people but was ultimately met with fear and retreating families. That is, until Tabitha and her gangster boyfriend moved in. It wasn't until the 1960s that he had given up or not managed to care, one way or the other, who heard them. 

The sound of soft shuffling feet caught their attention and as Matthew and Tabby turned their heads to the doorway, they had faded from sight as calmly as they had appeared.

Karen had wrapped her lavender housecoat about her and wore her fur-lined slipper shoes as she came down the stairs to investigate the voices. "What are you two doing up? It's late and both of you need to be in bed." Coming to a stop in the doorway, she eyed Kristy, expecting a plausible answer.

"I heard a noise." Kristy said.

Looking around the room and not finding anything out of the ordinary, Karen looked at her son. "What's your excuse, young man?"

Josh absently adjusted his ball cap and shrugged. "I was hungry."

"It's too late to eat and you'll be up all night, school tomorrow. Now, up to bed, you two." Karen snapped and pointed to the stairs, behind her. "One more thing. Have either of you seen my furniture pricing guides? I know I unpacked them and put them on the shelf. Now, they're gone."

"No." Kristy shook her head.

Josh smiled. "I bet it was Matthew."

"Who?" Karen asked, unamused at the answer.

"Matthew, mom. He thinks you're selling his stuff and he doesn't like it. I bet he took them to make you stop." Josh explained.

Sighing and giving him a look of disbelief, Karen rubbed her forehead, trying to see the logic in his answer. "Look, guys, I know you miss your dad and moving to another town and having to start all over again is not something you really want to do, without him but I can't do this by myself. We need to be in this together. So please, don't fall apart on me, now. Okay? And, I've been taking the things in the attic to my shop in order to have them cleaned. I need my pricing guides to estimate their worth and that way, give them back to the family. It's the least I could do for coming down in price, on the house. And if _Matthew_ would be so kind as to return them, say- before morning coffee- he just might be pleased with the outcome of the restorations. So, now that we have that settled, to bed, you two. March." She stepped aside and let them file out of the room and head upstairs before turning off lights and making her way back upstairs.

********

The next morning, Karen slipped out of bed and shivered at the chill in the room. The fire had long gone out, in the fireplace, and she reached for her housecoat, draped over the end of the bed. After slipping on her slippers, she yawned and made her way downstairs for coffee. Yawning again as she passed the table, she was not pleased to see the tabletop void of her books that she had asked for. The sun hadn't peaked through the curtains but outside was light enough to see without turning on the bright kitchen light. Pouring herself a cup of coffee and then making her way to the refrigerator, for creamer, she hadn't noticed Matthew sitting in the chair, with his back to the backyard window and watching her.

Pouring her creamer and replacing the bottle to the shelf, where she had gotten it from, Karen grabbed her coffee mug and turned to make her way over to the table to sit. The figure had disappeared but, placed in the middle of the table, had been her neatly stacked books she asked for. Karen stood frozen in place, in the middle of the kitchen, listening and waiting for one of her children to come around the corner, from their hiding place but nothing came. "Joshua? Kristin?" Several moments of silence and again, nothing. "Thank you...... Matthew....?" She said calmly and sat down is the same chair Matthew had sat in only minutes prior. She sighed and sipped her coffee as she watched the sun come up, through the window.

As the morning wore on, Karen had gotten her children up and off to school before heading to work. Catching a glimpse of the jack, after fixing a flat tire, a few days prior, she parked her Blue Dodge Durango in her parking spot, in front of her work, and opened the trunk lid. She had forgotten about the box of photos she had wanted to take in and grabbed it before pulling it out after replacing the jack in the trunk and shutting the lid. 

Julia Havers, Karen's new employer, stood at the countre and looked over an antique cuckoo clock one of her regular customers had brought in. Looking up as the door opened and the bell, hanging from the top of the door on a hook, chimed, she smiled and welcomed Karen. "Good morning!"

Karen made her way through the small shoppe and stopped at the countre, placing the box on the corner, next to the clock. "Morning, Julia. Mr. Cavish's clock?" She smiled as the woman nodded and then noticed the white filebox Karen had brought in.

Adjusting her thick-rimmed reading glasses that looked to be from the 1980s, Julia raised an eyebrow at Karen. "What's in the box?" Julia stood as tall as Karen, just over five and a half feet, but raised up, on the balls of her feet to peer inside the box as Karen took the lid off. Reaching in and taking the first photograph out, the same one Kristy had found, she gasped in excitement. "So, you bought the Jenson House!" she exclaimed. "I have been wondering who was lucky enough to get Margaret Davenport to sell." Staring at the aged photo of Matthew Jenson, she sighed. "Such a shame about him. My granny told me he was a sweet young man. Quiet and shy but had the most handsomest of smiles." Lowering herself back down, remembered the stories her grandmother had told her, when she was little. For a woman in her 70s, she was still as active as she was sharp in mind.

"Who was he, exactly? What happened to him?" Karen's curiosity had peaked.

Julia looked up from the photo and gave a sombre sigh. "Well, I don't know much about him but my granny lived a few houses down from him. He was a bookkeeper that moved here from.... Colorado Springs, I think. His uncle, mother's brother, was on the city council. Anyway, he came home from taking his wife to the train depot and hung himself. They had only been married for six months." Another sigh before looking into the box again and asking, "what do you want to do with these?"

"Hung himself, huh? Oh, um, I thought Jeffrey could maybe clean these up for me. It's something I am doing for the family." Karen blushed. 

Julia smiled. "Yes, he can do that. He restored a few of my family photos and tintypes." She paused for a moment as she remembered someone else. "As for Matthew, he was a very private person. I think only the people on his street knew what happened. Gossip was looked down on, in those days but Granny and her neighbour, Betsy Maitland, were talking about him, one night. Betsy lived closer to the Jensons. Betsy said, she overheard them fighting, the day before he died."

"Fighting about what?" Karen leaned in, interested in the past life of a young man dead for over 100 years.

Julia pursed her lips and thought. Shaking her head as she hadn't remembered Betsy's exact wording. "Something about a family."

 

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

Karen had taken the morning off to run errands and go to her doctor appointment. Stepping into the front office that hadn't been remodeled since the early 80s and had the smell of musty paper, Karen wasn't sure she was in the right place. A little old woman with white curly hair and big rimmed glasses sat behind the desk and smiled up at her as she stepped up to it. "Hi, I spoke with Anita Romani, yesterday. I was having her look some things up for me, about the house I bought. My name's Karen Eppley."

The elder woman smiled and stood up. "Oh, yes. Anita just got back from downstairs. Let me go get her." She was gone for nearly five minutes and returned with another woman behind her.

"Hi, Karen!" Anita smiled brightly and held out her hand to greet the woman. "I'm Anita." They shook hands before she waved Karen back to a reading room. "We don't get very many visitors, here, in the Archives. Especially, not many looking for news on Matthew Jenson." Anita was a beautiful woman of 45 with soft Navajo features and long black hair pulled back into a braid. "I had no idea Eleanor was selling the house." Offering Karen a seat at the table, Anita had already brought out the box she had compiled with articles and such of Matthew's life. As she took the seat across from Karen, she handed her a pair of white cloth gloves and instructed her on how to handle the items. "Let's see," Removing a few clippings from the Daily Denver Gazette and placing them on the table. "Matthew Jenson was born Matthew Tyler Jenson, on January 3rd of 1875. He was the son of a Soiled Dove named Cora Jenson. Cora lived and worked in Virginia City, Nevada. His father was not named and it's possible Cora didn't know who his father was. When Matthew was seven, Cora met and married a regular customer by the name of Thomas Dyer. Dyer did not adopt Matthew as Cora probably didn't tell Thomas she had a son." She paused a moment and slid a copy of the obituary she had just summarised over to Karen to look at.

Brow furrowing, Karen read on for a few lines. "He grew up in a brothel?"

Anita sighed and nodded. "Many of the children did. Some were even put to work, in them. He never spoke publicly about his childhood, to anyone, so it's anyone's guess what he lived with. Thomas sent him away to Cora's brother, here in Denver, after Cora passed from Tuberculosis, when Matthew was 10. He lived here until he was 12 and then his uncle sent him away to boarding school. After graduation, he was given a scholarship to the university to work on developing new medication. Rumour was, he developed a rough draft to a cold pack, to relieve fever. It failed but Matthew still tried to become a medical student, right around 1897. His uncle talked him out of it and shoved him into bookkeeping." She paused again to take a breath and delicately handled a 3x5 photograph of Matthew and his uncle shaking hands on the university steps.

Karen stared at the photograph, in her hand. Looking closer, she noticed the two men's look of toleration for each other. "Did they have a good relationship?"

Taking a breath and shifting in her chair, Anita looked up from the article she was holding and glanced at the photo, in Karen's hands. "Cora and Elmore were not the closest of siblings. Elmore was older than Cora by 10 years and just into her teens, their parents were attacked and slain by Shoshone. By then, Elmore was married and on his own, here. Chances are, Cora didn't keep in touch with Elmore until the end of her life. After Matthew's funeral, Elmore told the Gazette he wished he had been more of an ear, for his nephew. This is all from Elmore's personal collection and diaries. And, as you probably know, Margaret Davenport is the granddaughter of Roberta, Elmore and Cassandra Jenson's eldest daughter." Gathering a few more photos out of the box and handing them to Karen, she pointed out one that had been taken of Matthew and his new wife of a few weeks, was posed so that they were standing together, on the front porch of Matthew's house. "This was taken around 1904. That's his wife, there. I think she said she was from Boston." 

"What- what did happen?" Karen stammered. "I mean, he had just married her, didn't he?" She stared at the photo of the two, in front of the house, in particularly, Angela. The woman wore a respected Victorian gown, of that era, with lace trim and elongated skirt. Her hands we folded in front of her as Matthew stood beside her. Karen studied the woman's face and, even though, the photo was small, the woman had a look of properness to her that she couldn't explain. Sadly, her eyes turned to Matthew, standing beside his bride, in a black suit, possibly a tuxedo. His hair had been slicked back and, for once, he looked proud to have his likeness taken.

Inhaling, Anita sat back in her chair. "Well, no one rightly knows. He courted her for about five months before the wedding. His wife, Angela, did mention, to Elmore, that Matthew had been depressed. She told the Constable that she left for a day trip and when she returned, that evening, she found him hanging, by the neck, in the attic of their home. His death was ruled a suicide and the investigation was closed right after it had opened. After the funeral, Angela tried to claim the house but Matthew's will had named Elmore as beneficiary of his estate."

"No children?"

Anita sullenly shook her head. "No. Later in the year, Angela married an oil tycoon and moved to Aspen. She died in 1946 at the age of 69. She is interred alongside her second husband, in Aspen." Showing Karen an updated photo of two graves, side by side, she explained. "In 1901, for his mother's birthday, Matthew had Cora re-interred here, in Denver, at the Fairmont Cemetery. And, after he died, Cassandra prompted Elmore to have Matthew buried beside his mother." The tombstones had been barely legible as the weathering of 100 plus years had been brutal on the stones but Anita read off the dates for Karen. "Cora was born in 1853 and died, at the age of 32, in 1885. Matthew was born 1875 and died 1905, at the age of 30."

Karen sighed heavily and, for the rest of the day, had thought about all she had learned about the owner of the house. Anita had gone to great lengths to pull out information on Matthew, what little they had from archives and personal tell of relatives. One question plagued her mind; why commit suicide after just getting married?

*********

It had been a month since Karen's visit to the Archives and she had forgotten all about the past life of the house, until an unexpected visitor reminded her. The weather had gotten warmer and she and Josh were hard at work planting perennials in the strip of flowerbed, under the sitting room window while Kristy swept the porch and steps. Wiping her forehead with the back of a gloved hand, she sighed and sat back to admire their work. "Looks gorgeous, honey. I'm not sure what kind of flowers were in the photo, I saw, but they look pretty close."

"I hope Matt and Tabby like 'em." Josh copied his mom's posture and beamed a smile, feeling confident. Over the past month, in absence of his father, Josh had busied himself with talking to Matthew while Kristy and Tabitha were getting along, talking about nail polish and art deco of the 20s.

Karen gave her son a tired look. "Matt and Tabby.... Josh, honey, stop this. They died a long time ago and probably have moved on. This is our home, now."

Josh looked confused. "But they are here, mom. Matt even said he likes what you've done with the attic. He even lets me play with some of his toys."

"The attic." Karen shifted. "Josh, did Matt say how he died?" She hadn't told either of her children what she had learned, at the Archives, and wanted to know if her son was making it all up, or not. Looking at his face as he thought, she hoped he hadn't been so desperate for a father figure that he had invented one.

Pulling his gloves off and staring down at his hands, Josh recounted a sullen chat he had with the ghost, in the attic. "Well, he said that he doesn't really remember what happened but, his neck hurt, real bad and no one seemed to know he was there." Continuing to stare at his gloves, Josh sighed before turning to see his mom furrow her brow at his answer. "Tabby's neat, too. She says Kristy and I are the 'bee's knees,' whatever that means."

A car pulled up to the curb and stopped. The driver got out of the car and shut the door. 

"Daddy!" Kristy exclaimed, her face lighting up. She had recognised the car but could barely see the driver behind the wheel, from the porch. Dropping the broom and running down the few steps of the porch and down the path, Kristy leapt into her dad's arms and gave him a big hug.

Josh turned around and stood up, running over to his dad and hugging the man, once his sister had let go of him and backed up. "Dad!" Though, Matthew had only filled the presence of a male figure, Josh still missed his other parent. "Dad, come see the house! Are you gonna stay for supper?" Not letting the man answer, Josh began to pull on his dad's arm and pulled him towards the house.

Mark stood several inches taller than Karen and had usually used his height to look down on those he thought less of. With curly dark hair and a dark and bushy mustache, people would often recognise him as a television character. After telling his children hello and giving them proper hugs and greetings, he stopped only a few feet from where he had started, on the walkway. A light bronze tan adorned his well-toned body. He had prided himself on looking good for the women he had chased after, during their 19 year marriage. Though, with every push-up, sit up and mile run, he chose to drink twice as hard. A definite downside to his drinking was his short temper that became shorter with each drink. "I can't stay, guys." Mark hugged the two, again, as they clung to either side of him and wrapped their arms around his middle. He looked up from their disappointed faces to find Karen blocking their path to the front porch. "Why don't you kids go inside, a minute. I have to talk to your mother, okay?"

Both Kristy and Josh groaned and looked over at their mom.

Karen motioned them both to go inside and waited for them to follow the request. She listened for the door to shut before folding her arms and speaking to her ex, in a calm, quiet voice. "What are you doing here, Mark? We decided your habits weren't good for the kids. Remember?"

"No, you and the courts decided, Karen. And, what is this, moving to another city? Trying to take my children away from me? You didn't even give us a chance to talk about it." Mark's tone had changed to show his irritation at Karen and their children's moving cities to escape him. 

Stiffening herself as he came closer to her, Karen tried not to show fear of him, in front of her children that- she knew- were watching from the sitting room window. "Mark, please don't do this. The kids don't need this in their life, right now." Flinching as he took the few steps between them and grabbed her by the arm, she forced herself not to tremble as they came face to face. Using all of her might, Karen shoved him away and managed to break free from his crushing grip on her arm. 

Mark stepped forward, again, as she backed up. "Talk to me, Karen. Forget the damn courts and lawyers. Just TALK to me!" His voice carried as he grew more and more impatient with her.

"There is no 'just talking' to you, Mark." Karen's voice lowered to an angry whisper as she made side glances from the corners of her eyes, to see which of her neighbours had come outside to see what the yelling was about. She felt more embarrassed than upset but steeled herself against the brunt of his rage.

Scoffing and shifting, Mark shook his head. "This is exactly what was missing from our marriage. There was no talking, about anything, with you. You're so 'perfect' that you never had time for our marriage." He hissed.

"I never had time? You never took our marriage seriously, Mark. You were always out with God-knows-whom, you berated me, our children and our marriage, constantly." Karen paused and took a breath, forcing herself to calm down. "Mark, leave. This is why I don't want you near my children. They don't deserve this, from you." She turned to walk back to the house when he caught her arm again and spun her around. 

The front door swung open and Kristy raced over to help her mother. Her fists pounded on her dad's left arm as she screamed for him to "let go" of her mother. In the panic of struggle, Kristy had gotten herself backhanded, by her father, but kept up the hitting and yelling for him to release her mother. Angrily, she kicked his left shin and she and Karen turned and ran back inside as Mark howled in pain and limped after them. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she and Karen ran up the steps and into the doorway. She stopped and turned around as Mark tripped and fell face-first onto the wooden porch, sputtering curses at what tripped him.

As Mark picked himself up and started up the steps but was stopped by an unseen force. "Karen, be reasonable! I want my wife and my children back home." Shoving himself forward, snarling at the woman that stood in the foyer, pulling Kristy and Josh behind her, his temper grew shorter as he reached the doorway. 

"Kristy, call the police. Josh, upstairs. Now!" Karen shoved Josh over to the stairs as she stepped forward to shut the door. A cold breeze brushed against her left forearm and, what felt like individual fingers, held her back. She gasped as Mark reached forward and was immediately shoved back as if by a violent wind that sent him sprawling backwards, onto the wood planks. She watched in shock as the next movement that was made was the door slamming shut and the deadbolt turning into place. She could hear Mark get to his feet and scream curses at her before the sound of approaching sirens caused him to turn and hobble back to his late model black BMW.

Karen waited for the police car to pull up and stop her ex-husband from leaving, before opening the door, to speak to the officer's partner. She had agreed to press charges of assault and informed the officer of the divorce and circumstances. Thanking the officers and agreeing to go down to the court, on Monday morning, and petition for a restraining order, Karen watched as Mark was placed under arrest and escorted to the backseat of the squad car. After the police had left and Karen made her way back inside, from standing on the porch, she slowly closed the door and turned to stare at her children's shocked faces. "Are you alright, baby?" Karen stepped forward placed a hand on Kristy's cheek that Mark had hit.

Kristy nodded and embraced her mother as the tears started. 

"What did you do that for? He just wanted to talk! Now, I'll never see my dad, again!" Josh stood on the fifth stair up. His emotions changing from hurt to angry to sad and back again as he tried to figure out what had transpired in such a short amount of time. "Stupid Matthew!" Before Karen could get a word out, Josh had turned and ran up the stairs and down the hall, to his room, slamming the door in anger. He threw himself on his bed and buried his face into his pillow.

"Joshua!" Karen called after him but gave a defeated sigh as the door slammed.

Kristy sniffled and wiped her tears as she lifted her head from Karen's shoulder. "It was Matthew, mom. He was the one that saved us."

Karen shook her head as she met eyes with her daughter. "Honey, the wind blew the door shut. There's no such thing as ghosts."

"Matthew?" Kristy looked around the foyer for the gentleman ghost. "Tabitha? Come out, please?" A moment of absolute silence had passed. "But, they do. Tabitha told me Matt saved her, when she was alive. Matthew! Tabitha! Please!?" Moments of silence went by and still no sign of the two spirits. 

***********

It had been later in the evening when Matthew brought himself to check on the upset pre-teen. Composing himself and remembering his manners, his voice had offered conversation, first. "Joshua? Might we have a word?" Matthew stood in front of the door and stared at Josh's back, as he rolled away from the man, upon seeing him appear.

Josh curled up while laying on his right side, on his bed, and sniffled. "No. Go away. I don't believe in you, anymore." He hugged his pillow and pouted. He had been so upset that he hadn't bothered to come down or allow anyone to come up and bring him his supper. Instead, he had remained in his room and pouted over the day's events that caused him to watch his father being taken away, in handcuffs.

Stepping forward, Matthew took a breath. "It's not as simple as believing in me, or not. I apologise if I have hurt your father, in any way. It was not my intention, at all. In my day, a man took care of his wife and children." He stopped only a few feet from the end of the bed and waited patiently for the boy to turn and look at him. 

Sitting up and throwing his pillow in Matthew's direction and growling as it had gone right through the man, Josh hissed, angrily at him, "Well, we aren't in your day. You're dead! Because of you, I'll never see my dad again! Get lost!" Flopping himself back down on the bed, Josh wrenched his eyes closed and sobbed.

"I've upset you. Forgive me." Matthew looked down at the floor, where the pillow had landed against the wall and then looked back up, hoping Josh would change his mind or apologise. "I apologise for acting out of line. I will not interfere, again." Hanging his head in shame, he retreated to the attic, where Karen had done a fine job of cleaning the space up and almost turning it into another room. He had so enjoyed his time with Josh and hoped Josh had reciprocated but, like the several times before, through the years, he was disheartened by the anger that was often felt as he tried to protect the families he had come to care for.

A short time later, Karen had knocked on Josh's door and opened it to find her son had cried himself into exhaustion. Picking up his pillow and gently slipping it under his head, as he had rolled over to drowsily open his eyes to peek at the person that entered his room, she kissed his right temple and turned out his light before leaving his room.

 

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

Karen read through the copies of articles that Anita had given her, from the Archives, about Matthew. She had curled up, in the chair closest to the fire, and placed the file of papers on the arm, letting her head rest on the rounded back of the chair. Her head was full of the day's events that she had worn herself out, trying to make sense of it all. She had done more of setting up her room and making it look less empty and cold. She added drapes that were very lacy and flowed with the breeze from the windows. After having two of the four area rugs inspected and cleaned, she had asked the family if she may keep one or two. They had agreed and Karen chose a long, red with gold roses on it, to fill the floor space in the middle of the room. She had also taken a liking to a small, blue settee she had had reupholstered and placed it against the far wall, of the room, adding a few small, gray throw pillows to accent it.

The room seemed warmer and less drafty with each small change she gave it. Arranging baby photos of her children and framing them in faux vintage frames, she had found in an antique shop, on the wall, between the bookcase and the bedroom door, brought a smile to her face each time she passed by.

Moaning, softly in her dozings, Karen shifted and snuggled into the brown knit blanket that had been draped over her, from the end of her bed. The soft cracklings of a fire that had long been overdue for stoking, roared to life with another log being placed on it. The warmth from the fire had carried outward, filling the room and concealed the fact that she had been lifted from the chair and carried over to the bed and tucked in, knit blanket and all. As her head hit the pillow, she inhaled a clean scent that she had never smelled before. Her tired mind told her that it was the detergent from the blanket but she couldn't explain the feeling of complete safety and warmth that surrounded her.

Sometime during the night, Karen had rolled over and stretched, yawning and blinking her eyes open and catching a figure, sitting at the bay window and looking out, at the stormy night sky. Sitting up with a jolt and a loud gasp, her full attention had focused on the figure at the window, that hadn't moved. A flash of lightning lit up the figure's silhouette. "Kristy?" Squinting and shoving the covers away as she climbed out of bed, shaking in terror as she reached for a shoe she had kicked off, while getting ready for bed, earlier in the evening. The realisation of the figure not being either of her children hit her.

The figure's movements had been so fluid and slight that Karen had to move closer to see his head had turned to watch her. "Forgive me. I hope I didn't disturb you, too much." The soft smile on his pale, glowing face had somewhat eased the woman that now lowered the shoe she clutched, in her right hand. Matthew sat with his right leg curled and resting on the foam cushion, in front of him, his back to the fire while his left leg rested, motionless, draped over the side. His hair had been free from the grease that had been popular to slick back men's hair, of his time. The blond locks shone as a halo around his head. Piercing blue eyes that lit up with each flash of lightning and projected absolute calm and resilience in him.

"What do you want?"

Matthew didn't move. Instead he smiled calmly and turned back to the window. "I used to sit here, watching horse-drawn carts and steam-powered buggies putter by. In the distance, I could hear the rail cars and trains from the Depot race to far off places, faster than anything you could imagine. Their whistles would blow and fill my heart with excitement, as I would sit and wonder where they were off to. Now, I can barely hear them, through the noise of your time." He paused as soft pounding of the rain tapped at the window panes. "I wish I could remember what the rain felt like on my face." He lifted his face and closed his eyes and listened to the sound.

Karen's heart pounded in her chest. "Matthew." The realisation of who he was donned on her and, at the next flash of lightning, she moved to sit across from him, on the bench. She stared at him as if he had been an angel or a falling star. 

Opening his eyes and slowly turning to face the woman, in front of him, Matthew smiled and nodded. "I apologise if my earlier actions caused any distress."

"No. Oh, no. Don't apologise. My ex-husband is not a nice man. I should thank you." Karen absently held out her hand to shake his but quickly remembered he was not able to do the same. "I'm sorry."

Matthew smiled shyly. "A man should never strike a lady."

Karen listened to his voice and silently wished he would speak more. A calm, tenor voice that seemed to lull any fears Karen might have. Absently, she smiled. "Kristy and Josh certainly idolise you. And, Tabby...?"

"Tabitha is more outgoing than I am, I'm afraid." Lowering his head in shame, Matthew bit his lip. "Joshua is a bit upset with me, right now. However, they are wonderful children." Raising his head and standing up, he turned to look over at the settee, on the far wall, and made his way over to sit on it. "I courted my wife, on this very seat. My uncle said she would spend every cent I gave her. I loved the way she smiled at me. The way she would say my name or take my hand as we would walk down the boulevard." A sadness came to him as he recalled his own life. 

"Do you like the restorations?" She felt a little silly asking a ghost if he accepted her restoration work but, for some reason, Karen felt it was the polite thing to do. She watched him sit down on the seat and enjoyed the small smile on his face as he had been lost in another time; a happier, simpler time.

As if remembering where and when he was, Matthew looked up from running his fingers over the blue velvet seat and nodded. "Yes. This piece was a favourite of mine. My mother used to tell me bedtime stories, on one just like it." As if hearing his own words, he became sad at the memory.

Karen stood from the bench and came closer, stopping at the chairs, in front of the fireplace. She caught sight of the file she had placed on the arm of the chair she sat in, earlier, and wondered what he remembered. "Do you remember how you died? What happened, that day?"

Matthew shook his head. "We had a terrible disagreement, the evening before. We came back from dinner, with my uncle and his family. She delighted in him referring to me as 'addle' and thought there was something wrong with me for not starting a family, yet. So, that evening, I asked Angie for a child. I knew I could be a good father. For months, she denied claim to the offer. She refused to speak to me for the rest of the night but, the next morning, she called to me, as I passed our room. We had apologised for the harsh words we said and spent the morning, in bed. Angie would suffer terrible headaches and take trips to see a specialist, in Colorado Springs. I took her to the Depot, for the noon train and offered to escort her. She laughed and told me I would find it boring and that she would be home the next day." Matthew's eyes seemed to dim. "I came home. I heard a noise, in the parlour, and went to see what it was. I felt something hit me, from behind, and the next thing I knew-- People were sobbing and walking in and out of my home. My uncle seemed indifferent to the news. Angie was distraught." He paused and stood up, as if remembering something important. "Forgive me. My troubles are over with. Best not to dwell on them."

"You didn't see anyone, behind you?" Karen stepped forward and reached for the file of articles.

Matthew thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No."

Sighing, Karen picked up the file and opened it. She sifted through the articles and pulled out the one Anita had highlighted. "Angela returned home, later that evening, telling the Constable that she had taken a day trip and arrived home to a dark house. She said she called for her husband and, after an hour of searching, found him hanging by the neck, in the attic. She told Elmore Jenson, Matthew had been depressed, days before." Looking up to what she had summarised, her brow furrowed. "No mention of a note or anything else implying you were depressed. They classified it as a suicide."

Confused, Matthew stepped forward and curiously eyed the papers in her hand. "Angie found me?" Shaking his head, he stopped walking. "That doesn't make sense. How could she--?"

A loud clap of thunder echoed through the entire house, making Karen jump and turn to the window. When she turned back, Matthew had vanished. Karen checked the bay window only to find an empty seat. Sighing and tossing another log on the fire, Karen climbed into bed and curled onto her left side, staring out the window.

**********

The rain had continued well into the morning and afternoon, making the house seem darker than the day would lighten it. Karen found herself standing in the middle of the attic, staring up, at a support beam that went from one end of the vaulted ceiling to the other. "Why in the attic?" She had been deep in thought and hadn't heard the door open or Kristy's footsteps coming closer to her.

"Why what in the attic?" Kristy stopped next to her mother and looked up, to what Karen still stared at. Rubbing her forearms with her hands, Kristy couldn't stop her body from shaking. She figured there had been an easy 20 degree difference from the stairs to the middle of the room. Even with the two freshly cleaned areas rugs spread out, on the floor, the room felt unbearably cold. "Why is it so cold up here?"

"Why did he--? Oh, Kristy!" Karen was startled by her daughter standing next to her. "What are you doing up here?" Due to the rain, it had been a cooler day but the attic had been unseasonably cold and Karen couldn't help but shiver.

Kristy waited patiently for her mother to remember her promise of the evening plans. "You said we could go to a movie, tonight. Remember?"

Karen sighed, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, honey. I've been preoccupied. Did you two settle on one we can all watch?" Wrapping an arm around Kristy's shoulders, Karen led her out of the room and back downstairs.

"No. Josh wants to see that stupid baseball one. I want to see the one with the robots from outer space and, knowing you, you want to see that Shakespeare remake." Kristy named the choices off, on her fingers, as they walked back downstairs. She had already been dressed to go out, wearing her best jeans and cotton, long-sleeved white dress shirt with a denim, button-up vest, over top. Her hair and make up had been the next thing to do while waiting for her mom to get read and brother to pick out clean clothes.

Karen wrinkled her nose at the list of choices, instead of having just one already chosen. "How about we order pizza and rent a few to watch here?"

Kristy followed her mother into the master bedroom and sat down on the end of the bed. "Mom, we've been stuck here for a little too long. You said yourself, this is beginning to drive us nuts. We need to get out and do something." She grew tired of being cooped up in the house, even if the resident ghosts were friendly. "Besides, I think Josh could use some downtime, ya know?"

Grabbing her brush from her dressing table that she had placed on the other side of the wardrobe, Karen ran it through her hair and made her way back to sit down beside Kristy. "What do you think of Matthew Jenson? And who is this Tabby?"

Raising an eyebrow, Kristy cleared her throat and thought for a minute. "Well, they're ghosts, mom. They're dead. But, I know it was him that kept dad out of the house, yesterday, and Tabitha--, well, she's an experience, mom." Kristy smiled as she thought of all the zany stories Tabitha had told her about her life. "I think Matthew has been stuck here, for a really long time, and maybe they both need to figure a way out of their messes so they can move on. Matthew's so sad for some reason but Tabby is like, the opposite. Why do you ask?"

Karen stared down at her brush bristles. "I uh, I went down to the Archives, a few weeks ago, and the lady came back with a history on Matthew Jenson that..... I would rather not have you two exposed to. He had a very sorrowful childhood and his adult life, although short-lived, wasn't very happy, either." When she looked up, she was met with Kristy's confused expression. "I don't want you guys to think it's cool to be a ghost, or that you have no one to talk to, about anything. I love you two. You should never feel like that is the only way out. Okay?"

"Mom, he may have been depressed or whatever, in life, but I don't think I'd ever want to be a ghost. I mean, he's cute and tragic and whatever, and I really think he'd be an awesome dad but, even though I'd miss him, I want to see him finally at rest. Tabby, too. She said she used to be in the movies, before she died. Somethin' about some old fat guy with a buckle, in the teens and 20s. Did they have movies back in Matt's day?" Kristy took a breath and stood up.

Karen shook her head. "No, they had plays and operas, still."

"Oh." 

"Why don't you go see if Josh made up his mind, yet, and we'll go out to eat. Okay?" Karen smiled and resumed brushing her hair.

**********

Matthew stood in the attic and stared up, at the beam that ran crossways along the ceiling. A single rafter that seemed out of place but, he knew that if it had been removed, the roof would fall in. Staring closer and squinting his eyes, he could see a slight rubbing impression, in the middle of the long beam. He had wondered how long he had been there, before his younger wife had found him. Matthew had spent decades trying to remember what he was doing in the attic, in the first place, or how he even got up there. His memory had extended to days and weeks prior to and after his funeral but, the day of his demise had remained a mystery.

"Why so glum, chum?" Tabitha spoke from behind him. Her chin rest on his shoulder. "How many times are you gonna stand there and stare at that thing?" She stood so close to him that she felt they would meld together, if they could have become corporeal. Seventy years had passed since she and Matthew met quite by accident and yet, she couldn't remember anyone else. 

Blinking and tilting his head, Matthew finally spoke. "We were supposed to grow old, Tabitha. Supposed to raise children, share our lives and reflect from rocking chairs, with the loves of our lives. One day, it was taken from us." He stepped forward and separated them, turning to look at her. "That doesn't bother you?" His heartfelt question had been met with a quizzical look from the woman he had come to enjoy the company of but deeply resented being stuck in limbo with. They had come from two separate eras but both agreed, early on, that the best years were yet to come.

Tabitha quirked an eyebrow at him. "Yea, it does bother me. A lot. But, there was a lot that Charlie didn't have the gusto to do. I was supposed to be a star, up in lights, on the silver screen!" Moving and posing herself as Lillian Gish or Mabel Normand had in so many silent pictures. "I starred with Harold Lloyd and Fatty Arbuckle. I was supposed to get my close-up with Mr. DeMille. Instead, I got rubbered gams from too much giggle water and zappo! Here I am, stuck in the middle, with you." She danced and spun around in place before striking a tragic pose, showing off her performing skills to an unimpressed Matthew.

"I should take that as a compliment?"

Sighing, Tabitha moved closer to him and placed her arms around him, hugging him and kissing his cheek. "Oh, Matty. Of course, I meant it as a compliment. There was a lot we went through together. All these years together, you're my shoulder and I'm yours. Now, you're tellin' me, you'd rather have grown old with Annabel, than being glued to the floor, with me?"

"Angela. Her name was Angela." Matthew's voice flattened. "Had I have been alive and had children, as planned, I'm sure 1958 wouldn't have happened." Folding his arms as Tabitha stepped back to flash a bored look at him, he returned his gaze to the rafter above them.

"Those kids looked harmless enough. It was just the greenhouse that caught fire. You needed to loosen up, anyway." Waving a hand to the backyard, Tabitha dismissed the actions of a group of rowdy teen-aged boys that had come from a drive-in viewing of a film about a rebellious teen and his two cohorts. "Besides," she moved closer and replaced her arms on his shoulders, getting nose to nose with him, "I'm sure 'Angela' would have done her best to loosen up that collar....? Don't you think?" Tabitha tilted her head and smirked at the younger but older man.

Matthew sighed. "Actually, she was very different from you. A perfect Bostonian woman who didn't see me for anything else I was before she became my wife."

The statement had quirked an interest in Tabitha and she tilted her head, in question. "What were you before?"

Shrugging out of her arms, Matthew negated the answer. "Nevermind. It was a past life, for me."

Tabitha grimaced, annoyed with him and his lack of sharing abilities. "Everytime, your childhood comes up, you run and hide as if it's a dirty secret. Come on, Mister Jenson, spill the beans. You're dead so, no one can really hold you accountable." Feigning surprise, Tabitha covered her mouth with a white gloved hand. "Unless, it was you who put the fuzz on the newsies, in '99?" A smirk and a wink was instantly quashed as the sullen look on his face told her it had been a very dirty secret. "Oh. Oh, honey. I am so sorry." Taking a step back and connecting the proverbial dots, her verbal realisation had only added to his shame that played across his reddened cheeks.

"It wasn't like that." Shrugging away from her and moving over to stare out the window, into the backyard, he could feel the embarrassment well up.

She laughed and walked up, to stand behind him. "As if there was another reason your hair is so shaggy...?" Ruffling his golden hair, Tabitha smiled even brighter as she had managed to coax a small smile from him, which he quickly replaced with a scowl.

Matthew turned and grabbed at her wrist, catching it and holding it in his hand. Shaking his head, he relieved her of her annoying and embarrassing questions. "Yes, my mother was a soiled dove. She never told me who my father was because he was a client. Back in those days, respectable people wanted nothing to do with you, if they had known that. Angie...... she-- she thought I was from the upscale, wealthy Elmore Jenson. Up until the point I died, I worked so hard to become what he had wanted of me. Then, one night, it was all taken from me. I would have given anything to have grown old with her. Instead, I was denied ascension into Heaven for something I can't remember if I did, or not." The sadness had returned to his voice, lessening the anger of the past 111 years, dimming the sapphire of his eyes to a dull gray. "You can move on, Tabby." He paused as the use of her nickname had registered on her face. "I cannot." They stared at each other in silence before the sound of a car engine in the driveway and a front door opening and closing made its way up to the attic.

Letting a sombre emotion finally show on her ever-glowing face, Tabitha cupped his cheek in her hand and offered a heartfelt smile. "I didn't want you to be lonely, anymore." The moonlight had hit his pale face and she smiled as he had looked so handsome, standing there. "You know, Matt, I'd stay here, forever, with you." Tabitha kissed his opposite cheek and rest her head on his broad shoulder as they embraced.

 

TBC.


	5. Chapter 5

Late March, 1905

Matthew sat in the parlour and read the morning news. He had slept well into the afternoon, recovering from a terrible migraine he had suffered for the third day. The laudanum the doctor had prescribed had helped but served to make him undesirably exhausted. His vision swam with each paragraph he perused until he finally gave up and sat back in his high-backed chair with rounded arms that bowed out and around and a rich brown wood, and closed his eyes. Matthew relaxed into the plush royal purple velvet cushions on the seat and tall backing. He breathed in and swallowed and wished the pounding pressure would leave his senses. He had been grateful the house was quiet and absent from the two maids that usually busied themselves downstairs, humming and stirring up dust with their feathered dusters.

Shelves of books, from floor to ceiling, lined the maplewood bookcases that stood tall, on either side of the massive fireplace. A roaring fire had recently been stoked by Marie, the motherly Irish, older maid, before leaving for the market.

A knock at the front door jostled him from his rest and he opened his eyes and listened for the knock to come again. The elegant grandfather clock that stood imposingly tall, in the dining room, chimed three o'clock and Matthew sighed as he remembered his engagement with his uncle. Standing up and making his way, tiredly, to the door, he opened one side of the door and greeted the elder man. "Good afternoon, uncle." A tired smile adorned his face as the portly man with receding thick black hair that framed his round face gave a huff and stomped into the foyer. "I apologise for my tardiness in opening the door. I know you dislike waiting." Closing the door behind the man that scowled at him, Matthew cleared his throat and ushered Elmore into the parlour.

Elmore plopped himself down in the chair Matthew had been resting in and loudly scolded his nephew with no regard to the young man's ill-health. Muscular but thin legs cradled the man's protruding middle. A white face that easily turned two shades of red, each time he raised his tempered voice at the tall and thin younger man. Hazel eyes afixed to his nephew's embarrassed expression and a stuffy, rounded nose he had constantly wiped at with a handkerchief he gruffly retrieved from his left vest pocket of his tan suit. "Matthew, I find your current living situation a disgrace! When your father sent you here, it was not to make a fool of my good name, like your mother did. Six months, Matthew! Six months and no child expected?!" Elmore leaned forward in the chair and tapped the polished oak desktop, that sat between them, with one, thick index finger and spoke more pointedly to the man standing before him. "People will talk, Matthew. I will not allow a daisy-man in my family. Are you addled, in some way? Does this bride of yours not consent to your husbandry?" Taking a small delight in unnerving his fair-haired nephew, Elmore sat back and glowered at the younger man, awaiting an answer. "Out with it, boy!"

Matthew jumped at the man's booming voice. Blinking and averting his eyes from Elmore's fiery stare, Matthew tried to calm himself from the scolding. "I am neither addle or a daisy, uncle. I am very grateful to have been taken in, by your family. I have not been feeling well, as of late, and Angela has been--" He was cut off by Elmore's scoffing and huff as the man stood up and walked to the front window, staring out at the yellowed grass of an early Spring afternoon. Shame tingled at his cheeks as he stood there, in front of the desk and stared at the purple velvet of the chairback.

"Excuses, excuses! I have an election coming up, Matthew. I have no time nor patience for your childish games." Elmore continued to stare out at the street, watching several carriages of proper citisens lazily stroll by, on their way to their destinations. "Now, what have you to say for yourself?"

Matthew bowed his head and offered no explanation. "Apologies, uncle." It had never been his intention to remind his mother's brother what became of his mother, nor become a burden on his family, after his uncle and aunt had graciously taken him in, after Thomas had discarded him out of disgust. He had been entirely grateful Cassandra had stopped Elmore from sending Matthew to the Orphan Asylum and instead had talked Elmore into sending the young nephew to boarding school, the next town over. A small groan as his head had started to pound in agony, again. He winced as he turned his head to find Elmore had turned and sized his nephew up, from the window.

Elmore sighed. "Your mother was my only kin, until you. A brothel is no place for a child to be reared, on that we agreed. However, removing the filth and shame from a boy -now man-, leaves much to be desired."

"Yes, uncle." Heavy, pained eyes blinked back the misery and daggered words of Elmore Jenson.

Heavy footsteps across the wood floor stopped at Matthew's right side as he gasped from Elmore's fist wrenching a handful of golden strands and yanking it down to the man's eye level. He stood only several inches shorter than Matthew but carried himself and his words as if he were taller than Lincoln.

Elmore inspected the long strands that fell to just below Matthew's shoulders. "Not a daisy-man, indeed. With hair that length, the poor woman must think you feminine. Perhaps, if your hair was properly trim and that baby skin of yours, were more masculine, your bride would take you for a man, not a hapless simp."

Matthew had been too exhausted to tell his uncle that he had not left his bed, other than to work, for several months, due to his unexplained illness. "Yes, uncle."

Elmore snorted, releasing the fistful of hair, in getting his point across to the hard-headed young man. "You have one month to put your affairs in order, Matthew, or it's out you go. Am I understood?" Elmore had been too busy looking down on his nephew to notice the ashen face or darkening circles under Matthew's eyes.

"Yes, uncle. Thank you, sir." Matthew's eyes had gotten heavy and the terrible ache, in his head, had refused to be quelled as Elmore's voice demanded its presence known. Swallowing a sigh and turning to the doorway, to see Elmore out, he paused and his eyes widened. "Angie. Home so soon, dear?" A meek smile at the tall, brunette woman in a freshly purchased rose gown.

Angela stood tall and slendre and pale in skin. Her dark hair had been curled and brought up to a loose bun. She had removed her wide-brimmed white hat with pink lace that had been tied neatly under her chin and was now holding it in her brightly white gloved hands. Amber eyes stared over at her frail husband and with a coy blink, she smiled. "Why, yes, husband. I simply could not carry on my errands knowing you are ill." A corner of her thin mouth lifted in a raw try of a smile as she looked from Matthew to Elmore. "And, hello, uncle." Her rich, caramel voice dripped with station and elegance. "Would you join us in the Conservatory, for tea?" She smiled and stepped forward.

Clearing his throat and tossing Matthew a cautionary look, Elmore shook his head before turning back to the woman and ushering a gravelly decline of the invitation. "One month, Matthew." Making his way to the entryway, Elmore bowed to the woman, curtly, before storming out of the house and continuing on in his daily travels.

"Have you eaten, yet, darling?" Angela asked, stepping even closer to her frail husband. Taking his arm and walking with him, over to the wine-coloured, elegant sofa, she sat him down and pressed a gloved hand to his forehead. As Angela had also suffered from headaches, her had been simply explained away as an eyesight trouble. In Boulder she had found a doctor who had made innovative progress in correcting her vision, to escape the perils of wearing glasses. "Tsk tsk tsk, you are so warm, dear. Rest awhile and I will have Marie fix you some toast." She helped him to lie down, on the long seat but paused from getting up as he caught a slendre wrist.

Matthew sat back up and stared up, into her eyes. "Thank you, Angie. You take wonderful care of me. I could not ask for a more loving wife. Perhaps, this evening, I will feel better. I have a matter to discuss with you." He closed his eyes as she leaned over him and kissed his forehead and smiled down at him. His head throbbed.

Smiling down at him, Angela cupped his ashen cheek with her free hand and nodded. "Yes, you will feel much better, this evening. I will fetch Doctor Maitland. Rest, dear." Comforting him back to lie down, she turned and hurried out of the room, once he had released her wrist, to fetch the maid and give her instructions on caring for the master of the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Matthew stared at the beige sofa Karen had placed against the same wall, opposite the windows, in the parlour, and replayed the memory of the day his uncle had come to scold him. He blinked as his uncle's harsh words echoed in his ears. He stood with his hands behind his back as if waiting for instructions to do something. It had never occurred to him, when he was alive, just what kind of illness he had, until the doctor that lived next door had constantly checked up on him. The laudanum he had been taking had only made the symptoms worse and when he revealed his illness to Doc Maitland, the elder man had supplied him with a natural herb that had miraculously worked better than anything else he had tried. Closing his eyes and bowing his head, in shame, he hadn't heard Josh walk into the room with a can of soda and a small plate of cookies on it.

"What are you doing?" Josh stopped in the entryway and raised an eyebrow at the man standing in the middle of the room.

Opening his eyes and sighing, Matthew calmly turned his head to look at the young boy. "I suppose, I'm remembering." He looked back at the updated sofa and shook his head. Seeing the bored look on Josh's face reminded him of the earlier words that bit into him, from the young baseball fan. "Do you wish to be alone?"

"No." Josh shrugged and continued over to sit on the end of the sofa and set his soda down on the end table before picking up a chocolate chip cookie and taking a bite.

Matthew tried not to let his curiosity get the better of him yet, he found himself looking over the plate of four cookies and the canned drink, on the table. "What are you eating?" Remaining where he was, he examined the crisp object Josh had taken two bites from and replaced on the plate while he popped the tab open, on his drink. His own childhood had been filled with candy sticks and clear tubes of honey. His few friends, in Virginia City, had often shared with him their treats, after a day of schooling. The treats had been few and far between as the parents of the children had forbidden him to play with them.

"A cookie. I'd offer you a bite but, I don't think ghosts eat." Answering nonchalantly, Josh had hardly paid him any mind other than to be civil. Taking a sip and replacing the can on the glass coaster, on the table, Josh picked up the cookie he had already taken a few bites from and took another bite.

A small smile as Matthew shook his head. "No, that's fine. Thank you. Your mother doesn't mind you spoiling your supper?"

Josh swallowed his final bite of the first cookie and raised another eyebrow. "It's 3.30. We don't eat until six."

Matthew nodded in understanding. "I'll leave you to your treat, then." With a curt smile and one last glimpse of the cookies on the plate, Matthew disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a week since Matthew's headaches dispersed. He had felt well enough to return to full days at the office and come home, each noon for dinner. Hiding his long hair in a ponytail, tucked under his collar, Matthew had wanted to feel a little better yet, before patronising his barber, as not to start any rumours. Taking a deep breath and sitting down, on his side of the full-sized bed, he waited for Angela to finish writing the next day's menu and come up to bed. Finally, their bedroom door had opened and his bride walked in, reaching up to pull her long chestnut hair loose from its pins. He couldn't help but smile as her hair cascaded about her shoulders. Matthew cleared his throat, nervously, and stood up to make his way over to he dressing screen, wedged between another tall, maplewood bookcase and the shaded bay window. "Angie....?"

"Stoke the fire, will you, darling. It's chilly, in here." Her disembodied voice had interrupted him as she changed from her evening gown to her nightie.

Matthew placed another log on the fire and nudged the charred sticks beneath it, with the poker before turning back to look at the screen. "Angie, now that I feel better, I have been meaning to ask you something." He paused to take a deep breath and wrung his hands out of nervous habit. "How do you feel about children? A child?"

"A child?"

"Yes."

Angela sighed. "Come unfasten this, won't you?" Turning away from him and sweeping her hair over her left shoulder as he came around the side of the screen, she anxiously tapped her foot. 

Matthew stared at her slendre back but remembered to unbutton her dress and push it gently off of her shoulders. He kissed the exposed nape of her neck and then slowly trailed kisses along her bare right shoulder. "Would you consider becoming the mother of my child?" Moving his hands so that they rest on her taut stomach, he silently begged for her to say yes. "I know you would be a wonderful mother."

Closing her eyes and softly moaning as his kisses continued, Angela let her dress fall to the floor, exposing her semi-nude body underneath. Clearing her throat, she motioned for him to unlace her corset, as it was terribly uncomfortable and itchy. He did as he was told and the corset had fallen to the floor with a heavy thud, granting her a sigh of relief. She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his lips as he looked up. "What madness are you talking about, darling?" She smiled coyly and pressed herself against him. Her supple, C-cup breasts perked up as her small, pink nipples came into contact with Matthew's cool, white cotton shirt. Her warm sex tingled at the feel of his manhood responding from behind his slacks.

"Well, we've been married all this time. Shouldn't we be thinking of a family? We could at least consider it, can't we?" Closing his eyes, as he felt her body warmth through his clothing, his own body waking up in ways that hadn't since their honeymoon. His hands rest on her hips, his fingers pressing gently into her milky white skin. "Angie, please. I know I could be a good father." Matthew kissed her again, trying not to let his urgings seem too forward. He had asked her a time or two before but she had brushed it off, stating they were simply too busy getting settled to think about it.

Angela sighed, catching his eye as he watched her breasts heave with every breath. Smiling and unbuttoning the first three buttons on his shirt, she whispered for him to get ready for bed while she slipped into her nightie. "We'll talk, in the morning. You need your rest, dear."

Matthew nodded and excused himself from the room, making his way down the hall, to the washroom. Wetting a cloth with cool water, he unfastened his slacks and undergarment and spread the material away to rid himself of the ache in his groin. He washed himself thoroughly, before removing fresh pajamas from the cabinet with the glass doors. His long-sleeved pajamas had been neatly folded and placed on the shelf to the right of where the fresh linens were located. Dressing himself and discarding his soiled clothing to the wicker basket, on the far side of the cabinet, a tall, thin box with a white top, sitting to the back, behind the neatly folded white towels and cloths, caught his eye. Matthew removed the box and opened it. Out of a box of six, only three had been used. Rubber sheaths that slid over his manhood and prevented him from impregnating his wife, over the course of marriage that she hadn't felt it time for her to conceive but obliged him in his sexual urges. He had once thought of pricking the coating with a needle and asked to make love but, the hard lessons of youth in a brothel, quickly corrected him.

" _Always be an honest gentleman, Matthew. A proper woman is not for striking or toying with._ " Cora shushed his cries and wiped away the tears of the lonely boy. Soothing his hair and kissing his cheek as he curled up, next to her, on her bed. The words rang in the ears of the seven-year-old, after a cruel day of harsh words from both the schoolmarm and his classmates, after one boy noticed Matthew coming down the back steps of the saloon and teased the young Jenson boy all the way to the schoolhouse. 

He nodded at the memory and replaced the rubbers to the box, slipping it back to its hiding place, behind the towels. Matthew sighed as he buttoned up his shirt and finished getting ready for bed before opening the door and making his way to their bedroom. Rounding the corner and closing the door, behind him, he paused to take in the sight of Angela, sitting up with her back resting against the oak headboard, brushing her long hair and waiting for him to come to bed.

Blinking back the shame of earlier conversations, Matthew smiled as he caught her eye and continued over to his side of the bed. Climbing into bed, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Good night, dear." Matthew settled down into the mattress and pulled the covers up around him, rolling away from her.

Angela brushed the end of the lock of hair she held in her hand and stared over at her husband's back. She knew he had been patient and caring, with her, but hadn't figured out what had stopped him from taking what he wanted, like she had heard of the Wild West men. She had inquired to his aunt, several months ago, about Matthew's curious refinement and learned that Cassandra had been tight-lipped about her nephew as Matthew had, himself. "Matt, what were you like, as a boy?" She knew he wasn't asleep but kept her voice low and calming, as not to alarm him of her questions.

Matthew turned back and sat up. "What do you mean?" His brow furrowed in question.

"Well, we've never spoken about your childhood, and here you are, asking to receive a child into the world?" Angela blinked coyly at him. "Tell me, please."

His cheeks reddened and Matthew had to look away. "I was born in Virginia City, Nevada. My mother.... um," he met her eyes and quickly averted them again as he finished, "she worked in a saloon, until I was eight. My stepfather tried to make an honest woman of her but, she died two years later." When he caught her eye again, he could tell he had said too much, too soon.

"A saloon girl?" Angela contained a laugh. The laughter stopped when he nodded and the red in his cheeks brightened. "And what of your father? The proprietor, I suppose?"

Matthew didn't answer. His eyes downcast.

Angela looked at her husband coldly. "And you wish to have a child be apart of this?"

"I cannot change who I am, Angie. However, I can still love our child, just as I love you. Doesn't that matter to you?"

Raising an eyebrow as if learning something fantastical, Angela cleared her throat and resumed her brushing, leaving Matthew to sit and await her next question. "And your uncle? What are you to him? A wretched reminder to him?"

"Angie, please don't do this. I have been honest with you." Matthew pleaded with her and reached out for her but stopped as she jerked her hand away from him. He sat there for a minute and watched her continue to brush her hair. Taking a deep breath, Matthew slid off of the bed and quietly left the room. 

Taking refuge in the guest room, closest to the attic door, Matthew lit the candle, on the table, between the door and the bed, to the left, and pulled back the covers. Shivering at the chill in the room, he lit a fire in the smaller, marble framed fireplace and climbed into bed. Propping the pillows up, behind him, he reclined there and watched the flames. He had fallen asleep sometime during the night but woke in the early hours to the doorknob turning and the squeak of the door as it opened. Turning to look at the door, he blinked up at her and then resumed his position, facing away from the door and closing his eyes.

Angela peered in and slowly closed the door, checking on him. She made her way back to their room and tucked herself back into bed, blowing out the candle in a huff from waiting for him to come back to bed. The next few days had been silent between them. She hadn't cared that he slept down the hall but that he slept alone. She had released the second maid, a young, attractive woman from Abilene, out of jealous intentions. Yet, at meal times, not one word was spoken between them.

Another week had gone by and Matthew had taken solace in the flames of the small fireplace. He sat on the floor with the large, blue and gold area rug to warm him. His legs had been drawn up, and his arms wrapped around them as if comforting himself. Giving a tired sigh, Matthew closed his eyes for a moment of rest but opened them and turned around to see what the noise he had heard, was. "I'm alone, Angela. What more do you wish of me?"

"I do not wish anything of you, dear husband. What do you wish of me?" Angela had come into the room and sat down on the end of the bed and removed her housefrock, exposing her naked form. Her thick hair had caped her shoulders and concealed her pert nipples. Thin thighs were spread just enough to give Matthew an inviting glimpse at her fur-covered sex.

When he had turned back to the fire dancing merrily, he swallowed and shuddered from the urges in his groin. "You wish to tease me and then demand I wear a rubber, is that it?"

Angela quirked a grin. "If you wish." Staring at his back, she sighed and lowered herself to crawl along the floor. Her hands slithered up his straight back and down his firm chest, one hand resting on a taut peck while the other continued its way down to massage his awakening manhood. 

His legs had relaxed and his breath became heavy as he dipped his head down to watch her stroke him, through his black slacks. "Angie, I--" his voice had become more and more breathy with every stroke and teasing she assaulted him with. Finally, he had been reduced to soft moans and mewls as Angela eased him to lie back, on the rug and then straddled his hips and placed his warm hands on her firm breasts, helping him to squeeze and play with them. Matthew's heart pounded in his chest and he had to close his eyes to keep them from playing tricks on him.

Angela laughed and leaned over, letting her hair fall all around them as she spoke. "Does my husband not like what he sees?" Her eyes sparkled as she smiled. Meeting his eyes, her lips parted as the deep sapphire orbs stared up, into hers with a muted desire. 

Matthew squeezed her breasts, lightly, and pulled her down to suck on a pert nipple. His arms enveloped her as he sucked, his fingers running over the soft plains of her shoulderblades. He heard her gasp and rolled her over so that he was on top, and began unbuttoning his slacks and undergarment. Shoving the material away, Matthew paused and looked down, at her face. "Are you my wife, tonight?"

Smiling, Angela reached up and cupped his cheek. "Are you afraid to make love to me, husband?" Her breath caught as he reached up and held her wrist, kissing the inside with delicacy.

"I love you, Angie." 

Amber eyes softened as she brought his face down to hers. "I love you, too, Matthew." Slipping out of his grip, Angela reached down and gently place his erection inside her. She swallowed and gasped as he slid deep, inside her and brought their lips together for a passionate kiss as a gentle rhythm started. 

 

TBC.


	6. Chapter 6

Karen knocked on the door and stepped back. She heard voices coming from inside and then smiled as a young woman opened the door and gave her a quizzical look. "Hello. My name is Karen Eppley. I spoke to an Eleanor....? I'm here to talk to Margaret Davenport about her great cousin Matthew's house." A one-story house that was nestled in the middle of a long row of similar houses with lush green grass that carpeted the front yards with tall, leafy ash trees. Karen had searched for the address and felt a little lost as she had past the same house, at least, four times before seeing the numbers over the garage. A modest house with yellow siding and white around the windows. It was a newer house, built- Karen guessed- early 40s. The complete contrast to Matthew's late Victorian Era home. A perfect green lawn carpeted the front yard with one lonely adolescent elm tree growing tall, next to the far corner of the driveway, shading the two side-by-side postboxes.

It had been a pleasant Saturday afternoon. Fluffy white clouds strolled lazily by, lost in the sea of baby blue sky. The sunlight filtered through the clouds and spilled broken rays of gold onto the ground. The rain had hit hard, the night before, and the warm temperature mixed with sunshine was working hard to soak up the moisture.

The young woman of 32 pressed her lips together in discreet secrecy and stepped outside, closing the door behind her. Shaking Karen's outstretched hand, she introduced herself. "Hi, I'm Laura. My mom is Eleanor. I was in the room when she spoke to you, on the phone. My grandma suffered a stroke, a few nights ago, and passed away yesterday afternoon. Mom is a little busy with arrangements but, I might be able to help." She paused and gave a sombre smile. "Matt has been somewhat of an obsession, ever since I was a little girl. What can I help with?" Her long blonde hair had been pulled back into a fishbone braid with sideswept bangs that showed off her piercing blue eyes and thin face, such as Matthew looked.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear about your grandmother. If this is a bad time, I could come back...?" Karen silently scolded herself for putting off the meeting for several weeks as she had been busy at work. 

Laura shook her head and offered Karen a walk down the block as they talked. "No, no. It's fine. Grandma was a good friend and I loved her very much but, I need to focus on something else right now. Or, I'll fall apart." She laughed shortly and folded her arms as they walked along the sidewalk. She was nearly as tall as Karen, give or take an inch or two and as slendre as Matthew had been. "I heard you were restoring his furniture. Do you do that, for a living?"

Karen smiled. "Yes, I work downtown in a small antiquities shoppe run by Julia Havers. I showed Margaret a few pictures of the settee, he had. She told me that her grandmother, Roberta, would sit on that settee and have tea with his wife and Cassandra."

"Yes. Grandma would tell me those stories, too. She said Roberta was about 16, when he died. Her younger sister, Caitlyn, didn't like Angela, at all. But the boys loved every chance they had to go over to Matt's house. He had a train set, up in the attic, that he would let them play with. And when, the youngest daughter was born, Roberta wrote in her diary, that Matt absolutely adored her. He wanted so much to have a family." Laura shrugged and looked down at the pavement, in front of her.

Karen's brow furrowed. "Did Caitlyn ever say why, she didn't like Matthew's wife? I hope I'm not being too nosy. I guess the ambience of the house got to me."

Sighing, Laura shook her head. "It's alright. Elmore was always the one we'd be asked about the most. It's kind of nice to be able to talk about the rest of the family, for a change. To a 10-year-old, a snobbish, eastern woman that seemed to think she was this perfect being, wasn't very flattering. But, Caitlyn told my cousin, Tyler, that she was hiding in the pantry of Matthew's kitchen when her mom and Angela were talking about him and his childhood. He never told anyone about how he grew up, other than coming to live with Elmore and Cassandra. Cassandra told her that Matthew had a hard-knocked childhood and that his mom died from TB, it's possible Angela freaked. When she learned that, I think Caitlyn and Cassandra might have seen a glimpse of what kind of woman Angela was." She paused to kick a small rock back into the yard it had rolled away from. "Shame, really. Roberta, Caitlyn and even their older brother, who was 27, at the time, said they really liked Matthew but couldn't understand why he married her." Again, she paused. "I must admit, I was hoping to save up enough to buy his house but, mom said it was time to let it go." Laura's mouth twitched in question and she glanced over at Karen, walking beside her. "Can I ask, why are you so interested in him?"

Karen brushed a stray lock of hair behind her left ear and smiled. "I was just wondering why so much of his things were stuffed in the attic. My daughter found an old photograph of him and, since I had it cleaned and reset, he just looks like a sullen, young man that was out of place." She giggled. "My daughter thinks he looks like a rockstar, with his long hair."

Question, again, set in on Laura's face. "What photo of him? All of the ones I've seen of him, he had short hair."

Karen stopped walking and dug her mobile out of her purse and scrolled through her pictures. She had taken a few photos of the items she had restored but took a photo of the photo of Matthew, from the attic, for posterity. Tapping the icon and letting it expand, she showed it to Laura. "That one. I understand he had his own camera so, he might have taken this one, himself."

"Possible. He had several hobbies. Grandma said he really wanted to be a doctor but, Elmore berated him and forced him into being a CPA. Charles, Roberta's older brother, who would have been a few years younger than Matt, said Matt loved photography. When Matt died, the whole family stopped talking about him. Elmore wanted to sell the house but Cassandra talked him into keeping it. By then, it was 4 years later. By 1927, I think, one of Elmore Jr's business partners lived there with some ex-actress girlfriend. She died in the house, too. I think her name was Ruth but everyone called her 'Tabby' or 'Tabitha.'" Laura stared at the picture and shifted from her left foot to the right. The very same photo Kristy had found in the attic. "I've never seen this one. He wasn't really expressive in the ones I have but, they rarely were, back then. This one, he looks very forlorn. Do you know when this was taken, at all?"

Karen glanced at the picture on her mobile and shook her head. "The date on the back of it said 1903 but, I have a feeling that is was later than that. Just before he died." The name "Tabitha" struck Karen as odd and she repeated the name, absently, remembering what Kristy and Josh had told her. "Tabitha?"

Handing the mobile back to Karen as the screen went black, Laura shrugged. "Yea, she was in a few silent classics. Nothing really noticeable but, she was a favourite of Fatty Arbuckle and Mack Sennett." They continued walking as the street they were on curved and opened up into a small grassy park, across from another row of older looking houses. "So, all of this curiosity started from a picture? Normally, people want to know about Elmore, not the black sheep. At least, people around here, do. Matthew was sort of written out of existence." Laura giggled as they sat down at a picnic table, in the clearing next to the playground.

Blushing, Karen looked down at her hands, in her lap. "I know it sounds strange but, I'm a history nut." She smiled and looked back up, at Laura, who smiled back. "That, and I suppose I have an affinity for people gone too soon. My younger sister suffered from depression and suicide, also."

Laura's brow furrowed. "Matthew wasn't suicidal. He was depressed, sure. The poor thing must have had a rough life but, Cassandra said, for years afterwards, Angela was his 'happy thought.' Now, he wanted to help people, or make life better, at least. I'm sure seeing his mom die, at 10 years old, was really hard on him but he wanted to find a cure. He wanted someone to be proud of him, I guess. Marie, Matt's maid, told Cassandra, after the funeral, that she didn't believe Matt would take his own life. And, even Cassandra agreed. I think Cassandra really loved Matt, like her own son, and was a pretty good judge of character so, I know I divide the family. But, I have five people on my side."

"How did Elmore take his death?" Karen had wondered that for awhile.

Sighing, Laura shifted on the bench, curling her left leg under her right, as they both sat sideways on the bench, facing each other. "Well, he won the election but I think it hit him hard, the most. He had a stroke, a few years later, after visiting the house." She shifted again and leaned on her elbow, on the table. "You see, after the funeral and wake and all that stuff, Angela was forced out and as soon as she left, Elmore just locked the door and never looked back. Later in life, he asked Caitlyn, who was taking care of him, after Cassandra passed from an illness, in 1917, to take him down to the cemetery, to sit and talk to Matt's grave. She became a nurse and worked at The Association Health Farm, from 1916 on."

Karen didn't know what to do with the new information. At Laura's request, she emailed the photo of Matthew to her as well as attaching her phone number, in hopes of solving the question of suicide or not. She smiled, to herself, on the way home, glad she had a partner-in-crime with Laura. 

Now, they just had to solve the mystery.

~~~~~~~~

April 1904

Matthew sat in the back of his storefront office and finished his work. It had been late, in the afternoon, and he was the last one to leave. The lights were out, save for the one remaining on his desk. His desk had been turned so that it faced the opposite wall while the other six desks were placed in rows of two, between his desk and the door. It was a long, narrow room but big enough for the seven men, in the front office to maneuver around, with clientel and not bump into each other. Matthew hadn't minded at all that he was in the back of the shop as the ceiling fan worked better, farther away from the hot sun beating in through the windows. Writing and calculating his paperwork for the next day, he had been too busy to hear the commotion outside and offer his help.

The wind blew terrible and with such high gusts, she could barely keep ahold of her several different shaped and sizes of hatboxes. She had been shoved down the street before, but never this gruffly and by an unseen force. With her arms full of her ever-shifting hatboxes, she huffed and continued on, down the walk. Just as she moved her boxes, to see where she was going and hail another coach, another great gust of wind shoved at her lower skirts and scooped her up, dumping her into a storefront shop. Tripping over her skirt and falling face first to the floor, sending hatboxes sprawling out, in front of her, she cursed the wind, under her breath and picked herself up to sit down on the floor where she had landed.

Matthew looked up, startled by the noise and the crashing that had burst in to his office, and rushed over to help the lady in a creme-coloured rose gown with pink ruffle trim and matching, wide-brimmed hat that covered her face. "Are you alright, Miss?" Helping the woman to her feet and guiding her to a chair, in front of one of the desks, by the door, he then turned and collected her hatboxes and hats that had spilled out, and neatly stacked them on the desk, behind her. 

With a heavy sigh, the woman reached up and unpinned her hat and removed it, before she answered him. The wind had blown the hair not covered by her hat into disarray and the sunlight and humidity had flattened the rest. Letting the once neatly construed bun untangle itself and spill her long chestnut locks down, over her shoulders, the woman grimaced angrily and shook her head. "No. Some pompous man in a long black coat and top hat shoved me out of the way and stole my carriage. The nerve of society, these days!" Though her tone was angry, she had managed to keep her calm as she hadn't looked around to see whom she was with. Instead, she busied herself with brushing the wrinkles out of her skirts and sleeves of her matching waistcoat.

Matthew read the name on several of her hatboxes and noted their unique shapes. Lillian's had been the fanciest hat shoppe, for uptown ladies, in Denver and was also three doors down from Matthew's office. He had only recovered from a very tense and short meeting with Elmore, moments before she stumbled through the door. "Long black coat. Did the top hat have a red carnation, by chance?" His eyes had opened slightly wider and he swallowed dryly as he waited for her answer.

"Yes. Wretched fellow. Takes a carriage from a lady, as she's climbing into it. The nerve! Do you know him?" The woman finally stopped toying with her hat, she had taken off, and finger-combing her hair to look up at him. Amber eyes met sapphire and they stared at each other, for a long moment.

Clearing his throat and sighing, Matthew swallowed nervously, again, and nodded. "I'm afraid so. He's my uncle."

"Uncle." Giving a less than flattered sigh, she stood up and straightened her posture. "Would you be kind enough to call me another carriage?" 

Matthew nodded. "Of course." Bowing discreetly before turning to the door, he paused and turned back to introduce himself after suddenly remembering his manners. "Apologies. My name is Matthew Jenson. Other than fetch a carriage, is there anything I can do for you, Miss--?" He had tried to contain his admiration of her beauty and silently delighted in hearing her Eastern accent. Since his colleagues left at 2:30 and it was now a quarter to 5, in the evening, he had wished to have someone to chat with, more pleasant than his ever-upset uncle.

The woman raised an eyebrow and stared at his outstretched hand. "Angela Elizabeth Nora Dowling." Placing her hand in his and watching as he bowed and kissed the back of her hand with a soft grace, she gave a small smile as their eyes met again. "Where am I?"

Matthew straightened again and smiled, nervously. "Deacon & White Law Firm. You are three doors down from Lillian's Hat Shoppe." He paused to watch her turn her head and look down, at the hatboxes. He noted the graceful angle of her neck and the sculpting of her jawline and had to blink away to keep her from thinking he was a madman. Removing his pocket watch, he looked at the time. "Oh, um, I am about to lock up. Perhaps, you might accompany me to supper and then I will pay for the carriage home....?"

Angela was shocked at the invitation from a complete stranger, even after she had insulted his uncle. Yet, something in his boyish charm, handsome features and innocently pleading eyes told her she would be safe with him. Angela heard a voice accept his offer and then held her breath, in surprise, as she realised it had been her own. His warm smile had made her smile, in return, and she took his offered arm and walked with him, across the dusty road, to the small restaurant. 

They sat and talked for hours, during and after their meal, making each other laugh and revealing small details about one another before he paid the bill and flagged a carriage for her. Matthew had been a gentleman and carried her hatboxes for her, placing them into the carriage and then taking her hand to help her onto the seat and sitting down, beside her, to make sure she arrived home safely.

~~~~~~~~

Kristy made her way through the Young Adult section of the fiction area, of the city library, while Josh made his way over to the graphic novels and sat down, on the floor, after picking out the last issue of his favourite comic. Kristy flipped through a few books of wizards and star commanders before yawning and walking over to the reference computer and typing in a book of Longfellow. Sighing as the book she wanted was unavailable, some recommended books were listed, on the side of the search box. "Gangsters of the 1930s." Clicking on the selection and reading the blurb, Kristy saw a familiar name, Tabitha Moore. Writing the number down, she went over and poked her brother in the shoulder to let him know she was heading upstairs, to the non-fictions.

On her way to the biographies section, she passed the Architecture and State History sections and paused to browse through. Finding a plain, green book titled, "Denver: Then And Now," Kristy pulled it out from between two neighbouring city books and flipped to the index, in the back. "Jenson, Jenson,........ Ah! Jenson, Elmore, pages 32, 35 and 39 to 45." Thumbing back through the pages, Kristy stopped on page 39 and stared blankly at the small, roundish man in the image. Dark sideburns and muttonchops made his face seem smaller than it was and his expression was that of a mute scowl at something, to his right. A few more pictures had been mixed in with a well-written and lengthy history on the man and as Kristy sighed and turned the page, looking for any mention of Matthew, she found a photo of the whole Elmore Jenson family, with Matthew as a 12 year old boy. His expression from the photo in the attic seemed happy compared to the photo she now stared at. 

"Hey. Mom says we gotta get going." Josh had walked up behind her and laughed as he startled his sister.

Kristy turned and gave him an evil look before closing the book and making her way to the aisle she had written down. "There's one more I want to get. I'll be down in a minute." 

Josh glanced at the cover of the book Kristy had been looking through and checked the shelf for a second one. Shrugging as he hadn't found a second copy, he clutched his books more tightly and hurried back down to the first floor to let his mother know Kristy would be right down. "Mom, are you really gonna help Matt and make him go away?" He had bugged her with questions of her thoughts on him, since finding out that she had had a conversation with him.

Turning from the bookshelf of New Arrivals, Karen's brow furrowed at her son's question. "Well, yes, honey. Don't you think he deserves to be able to know what happened to him, so he can rest?" She had spent a good portion of the afternoon trip in the basement, with the periodicals and let them get their own likes, while she muddled through the papers and articles. Clutching the folder of printed microfiche and handwritten notes, she felt she had compiled a list of possible suspects that might have had it in for Elmore by-way-of Matthew, or Matthew, himself. She hoped she and Laura would be able to piece through it and narrow down the list.

"Yea, but why now? I mean, we just met him." 

Karen patted his shoulder. "Josh, don't you think 100 years is long enough not to be able to be at rest and see your family and loved ones, again? Don't you think you'd be sad and want someone to help you, if you were in his shoes?"

Josh shrugged and stared at his shoes. "I guess. But, why can't he just go?"

Sighing, Karen shook her head. "He has unfinished business and can't move on."

"Unfinished? He's dead."

"It's difficult to explain, sweetie." Karen checked her watch again and then glanced at the top of the stairs, leading to the second floor, next to the two racks of New Arrivals. Spotting Kristy coming down the stairs, Karen fished for her library card, in her wallet and then leading them over to the check out stations, between the in and out doors. They checked out the books and made their way outside, to the Durango. "Why a book on gangsters, Kris?" Karen and Kristy walked side by side while Josh walked behind them, his nose buried in the graphic novel he had checked out.

Kristy yawned from staying up late, the night before, to watch an old film on television. "Huh? Tabby's in here! And they've got pictures of her, too!"

Karen eyed Kristy questionably as they backed out of the parking space. "Two more stops and then home, okay?" She drove down to the nearest florist, where she had ordered two bouquets; one of daisies with Lavender Heather, and two each of mixed zinnia and magenta zinnia. The other of half dozen, full bloom red roses. Picking them up and giving one bouquet to each child, she told them to hold them and be careful.

"What are these for, mom?" Kristy wrinkled her nose at the mixes fragrances and eyed Karen's selection as she sat in the front passenger seat.

Getting in and shutting the driver's side door, Karen removed the directions she had written down to direct them to the Fairmount Cemetery. Handing the paper to Kristy and asking her the directions, both Kristy and Josh had caught on to what she was doing. "One is for Matthew. The other is for his mom. But, they are at the back of the lot so, it'll be a bit of a walk." Karen pulled into the grounds and followed the winding path slowly around to the back lot, where Matthew and his mother were buried. They were greeted by Laura, who sat on a small bench, under the tall Emerald Ash tree that shaded the two weathered graves. Parking and getting out to help Josh with the bouquet he held, she waved to the young woman as Laura stood up and came over to greet them. "Hi. We found it."

Laura smiled and hugged Karen before being introduced to Kristy and Josh. "Are these for Matt?" She smiled as Kristy handed her the bouquet she had been holding and then followed Laura to where Matthew and his mother were laid to rest.

"Yea. We thought we would bring Matthew and Cora something, to show they are remembered." Karen spoke up as she walked beside Laura and watched the young woman place the bouquet in front of Matthew's deteriorating, simple headstone.

Laura stood and stepped back before turning to look at Karen. "Cora?"

Nodding, Karen stared down at the two lonely headstones. "Yes. Even she should be remembered, on Mother's Day, even though, it's tomorrow." Her heart sank as she watched Josh place his bouquet in front of Cora's headstone.

Josh stared at both graves and then looked around for others. "Why are they so far from everyone? Where's his uncle and wife and family? Aren't they lonely?"

Laura smiled softly. "Cora's line of work was considered disgraceful for society, back then. And, with Matthew's questionable suicide, neither were buried with absolution."

Josh didn't answer, only stared down at Matthew's barely visible name on a crumbling piece of stone. He thought of how reserved Matthew had been and how sad he had seemed. His thoughts then turned to his own words of cruelty and cursing at the man, who was only trying to protect his friends and home from the intruder. He and his sister shared the same look and he wished they would go home so that he wouldn't have to think about the depressing and lonely place Matthew and his mother were laid to rest in. He now saw why his mom wanted to bring flowers to their graves and took upon the task of helping Matthew and Tabitha rest in peace. "What about Tabby? Where's she buried?" He turned and looked around, at the gravestones on the other side of the small path.

"Tabby?" Laura looked at Josh with question.

"The other ghost. Where is she buried?"

Laura's brow furrowed. "Tabitha Moore?" She clarified.

Kristy stepped up, next to her brother. "Yes. The lady that died in the house, in the thirties." Seeing the uncertain look in Laura's expression, Kristy gave a nervous smile. "We've been doing research." Breathing a sigh of relief as Laura nodded in understanding, Kristy glanced over at her mother for reassurance.

"The family of Ruth 'Tabitha' Moore claimed her body and moved her back to Wisconsin." Laura shrugged. "I'm grateful for the flowers for Matt and Cora. I'm sure they would appreciate being remembered."

"He's really nice." Josh smiled and was immediately elbowed by his sister. "I mean, so I've read."

Laura smiled again and nodded. "He was."

 

TBC.


	7. Chapter 7

21 April 1905

The pen moved with the greatest of ease, fluid strokes caressing curves and sharp lines on the white paper. Angela detailed her most private thoughts of her daily life in the small, leather-bound book she kept hidden in her chest of drawers. She had spent the last two days traveling to Colorado Springs, for medicine and secret procedures she hadn't told anyone of, especially her husband. She now recuperated in a private room at St. Francis Hospital. Finishing her entry and closing the book, she placed the book and pen on the small table beside her, to the right of the bed. With a heavy sigh, she placed her right hand on her sore and swollen stomach and bit her tongue as she shifted and caused a pain to radiate through her insides, from the procedure.

A knock at the door before the doctor opened it and stepped in. "Ah, good morning, Mrs. Jenson. How are you feeling?" A middle-aged man came around to stand beside the bed, to her left. Checking her pulse, on her wrist, with two thick fingers, he wrote down her vitals and then looked at the woman and smiled.

Angela sighed and smiled weakly, still biting the tip of her tongue. "Pain but not much. Was it a success?" Her hair had been unbound and caped her shoulders. She had asked for the nurse to brush her hair so that she would be presentable. She had disliked letting even Matthew see her unkempt.

With a sigh, Doctor David Norton grabbed the chair from the small writing desk, on the other side of the door, past the foot of her bed, and moved it to sit at her side. "Mrs. Jenson..... Angela..... The procedure you had done was no easy task. Surgeries such as this are in their 'infancy', so to speak." He paused and glanced down at her hand, still on her stomach. "Your husband doesn't know of these visits?"

"No. And, I do not wish him to learn of them."

Doctor Norton sighed and nodded. "I understand how you feel. However, with procedures as young as this, doesn't he deserve to be here with you, in case something should happen, God forbid?" His deep voice was soft and tender as this was not his first time speaking to a woman in her position. His salt and pepper, neatly trimmed beard contrasted his mostly black hair with graying sides. Carmel coloured eyes held the utmost patience for his charges. "By law, I can't break the Doctor's Code but, might I suggest, you give him the benefit of the doubt? This is not something you should really keep to yourself, Mrs. Jenson."

"I'll consider it. Thank you." Angela had been starting to get annoyed with his pestering. She had propped herself up against the metal back of the bed, using the pillow as a cushion. 

He nodded and let the topic alone. "Well, you should get some rest. I'll be back in, this afternoon, to check on you." Patting the bed and standing up, Doctor Norton returned the chair to the desk and quietly left the room. He was not a tall man but not terribly short, either. A kind man with an honest smile and slight Texas drawl. He had joined the ranks of M.D. after watching his father die of gangrenous infections he had acquired during the war. Like Matthew's, his childhood was not so fondly remembered. 

Angela rubbed her belly and closed her eyes as another shift was followed by a sharp pain to her abdomen. She hadn't wanted to have Matthew worry over her procedures as they were new and often life-threatening yet, she had wanted to tell him in her own time. She had been assured that she was in perfect health and the possibility of a child being just as healthy was even better in odds. Angela had read about a new procedure that would ensure the possibility of conception, in young women. For a woman of 25 married to a man of 30, Angela wanted the knowledge that she could have a child and remain healthy, despite Matthew's questionable health. Picking up her book, again, she started a new entry. 

9.53 AM

Doctor Norton seems optimistic but says  
I should let Matthew know. "Matthew  
deserves to know about this." No, he doesn't.  
This is my secret and I will never let him know.  
He has kept plenty of secrets from me. Why  
shouldn't I keep my own? Yet, I wonder  
how he would receive this knowledge.  
My stomach pains are worse. I do wish  
Matthew were here but, I will not risk   
him finding out. I can't. Until later.

~~~~~~~~~

Matthew sat at the long oak table. Elmore sat to his right, at the head of the table, while Cassandra cleared the table, across from him. It had been a long and grueling meal as Elmore had chosen to badger his nephew about work, rather than celebrate his winning election. Matthew sighed and patiently listened to Elmore telling him how to be more business-successful. His wife had sat to his left and listened to the comments Elmore had made and watched as Matthew's face blushed in embarrassment.

"Father, leave the boy alone. He has enough on his mind, already." Cassandra winked cleverly at Matthew as their eyes met. She could tell he was feeling vulnerable and uneasy as Elmore looked over the documents Matthew had handed him. Shooing the children away from the table and showing Angela and the other women into the sitting room, for tea. Her auburn hair with delicate strands of gray had been pulled back into a neatly braided bun at the base of her skull and decorated with sheer netting and slivers of diamonds. She had been dressed to entertain guests and had recently bought a fanciful, magenta evening gown from a New York shoppe. Her calm, quiet demeanour spoke volumes to her husband and family. A sturdy woman that filled out a gown and stood no taller than five and a half feet, when even tempered. Yet, when she was tested, Cassandra would stand ten feet tall with enough rage to level even the most unsettled person.

Elmore and Cassandra's house had been much larger than Matthew's small Victorian. It stood three stories high and took up at least an acre, itself. Red brick outside walls and a deep magenta silk wallpaper with rose designs, in full bloom. A total of seven children and Matthew had grown up in the house, along with four maids and one chauffeur. Elmore had kept the house packed nearly every week with people, for parties or press conferences or business dealings. Elmore had always been one to flaunt his elegant style and riches. Cassandra merely indulged in hobby of art and decor.

Huffing in frustration, Elmore hushed his condescension and sighed under his breath. "He will never learn what is expected of him, until I tell him." Not looking at either person, he instead stared at the other end of the table to see Charles walk back into the room, with a piece of paper, in his hand. His face had gone red from frustration and over-excitement. His lips had pursed together so tightly, a thin white line around his mouth had formed and stayed, even when he spoke. Elmore dared not raise his voice as he couldn't stand to upset his wife, who did not tolerate loud noises in her home.

Charles came to a stop next to where Cassandra paused to pick up the last remaining dishes from the table. "Might I make a suggestion, father? It so happens, my agency has an opening. I am positive Matthew will make a grand addition to my company. If he accepts?" Smiling at Matthew, Charles slid the piece of paper across the table, to his cousin, who looked at it in shock. "I know you've been unhappy in your current position, cousin, and I think it's time to reevaluate your settings. It would certainly be closer to home and better hours. We can discuss pay, at your interview." Charles had been one of four co-owners at the top competition firm of Matthew's own firm and was genuinely concerned for his older cousin, as he hadn't liked the way Deacon and White personally handled their clients, or employees. He had wanted to free Matthew from Deacon and White for a few years but the opportunity never arose.

Matthew sat back and sighed in relief. Nodding, he was grateful for the offer. "Thank you, Charlie."

"Good. Then, it's settled. Tomorrow morning, I will schedule an interview for you. I will let you know within the week." Charles smiled and glanced at his father, who glared at him with annoyance. His auburn hair shone in the soft light of the brand new electric lights Elmore had installed only a year before. He stood a little taller than Cassandra and muscular, with a barrel chest and a temper to match both parents. Big, polite hazel eyes to match his mother's and a disarming smile, Charles had been quite successful in his line of work. 

Matthew smiled and stood up to reach across the table and shake Charles' hand in acceptance. "Thank you, Charlie. It means a lot to me." 

Elmore remained quiet about the exchange. He could see the relief in Matthew's eyes and understood the sentiment but his mind would not let Matthew be completely blameless, in the situation. He had pulled strings to get Matthew the job with the company, and knew the two owners very well. Another heavy sigh as Elmore glanced at Matthew and then at Charles before standing up and leaving the table to collect himself.

Charles pulled out the chair that had been pushed in, in front of him and sat down, folding his hands on the table. "Pay no attention to father, Matt. His pride is hurt because you are not a cutthroat as he is." Meeting eyes with his cousin, Charles could tell Matthew had not been sleeping well, if at all. "After all of this has settled, why don't you and Angela come up to the cottage and get away from all of this? Emma and I would love to have you both." He smiled kindly and waited for Matthew to accept.

Sitting back down and sighing, Matthew debated telling his only confident and friend what had been on his mind as of late. He was silent for a long while, trying to form the words, in his mind and not seem like he were addled but finally said the plain words, after Charles' worried expression for his cousin became too much to bear. "I believe my marriage is falling apart, Charlie. Angie is... distant... and she has been feeling ill, more often. Elmore seems more obsessed with she and I having a child than Angie does. I can't seem to get her to agree." Matthew shrugged and shook his head. "Besides, we would only be in the way. You should spend time with your wife and new son."

Brow furrowing, Charles leaned in closer. "What do you mean? I am sure Angela whole-heartedly agreed to this marriage, as did you." Charles shook his head in disbelief of Matthew's worry. "Give it time. And, father only wants you to succeed and have a plentiful family, as we all have. The fact you are his nephew is merely an oversight."

Matthew shook his head again. "It's not just the family, Charlie. Angie, she--" he sighed, frustrated. "Since our return from Boston, she has been very different. And, these trips to Colorado Springs are..... What do I do, Charlie? I love her and yet, my touch holds nothing for her but repulsion. As for my employer, Edward Deacon should be behind bars and Gerald White, with him." Matthew paused and glanced back at the door, leaning forward to close the distance between he and Charles. "People are being paid that I can't account for. Edward takes month-long business trips to New York and comes back in debt or thousands in plus. Gerald, the same way. The books rarely make sense, no matter how many hours I spend staring at them and constantly remathing them." Matthew shook his head. "Charlie, they show no receipts of business being done. It all falls on me, those days."

Charles sighed as he listened. "What do you think they are doing?"

"I can't say. Everything points to a certain client but I am forbidden from disclosing the name. As for the employees, they are frustrated and upset with me for their declining paychecks."

"How long have you suspected this?"

Matthew shrugged. "A year."

"You're just now coming forward with this?" Charles asked, shocked.

"My hands are tied, Charlie." Matthew replied. "I have no proof to go forward with. Also, Edward is not a man to try his temper."

Charles sat back and thought. He was silent for a few moments and finally said the words Matthew seemed relieved to hear. "Hand in your resignation, tonight. After a day off to gather yourself, you start with my company." The look Matthew had given him, in silent answer, had been the praise he had needed. His own suspicions had been confirmed and he hadn't wanted to waste any time in clearing Matthew out of, what could have been, something dangerous. 

~~~~~~~~~

Matthew had filled out the application and handwritten his resignation to his own company, before he and Angela left his uncle's house. He had the driver of the carriage stop briefly at his office so that he could clean out his desk and place the notice on his boss's desk. The two coworkers that had been working late, had asked him why he was quitting and inquired more about Charles' company and any other open positions. Matthew smiled and told them he would ask his cousin and reply to them as soon as he knew. As he sat back down, beside Angela, she questioned him about the stop. "Charlie has an open position and needs me to start immediately."

"Your bosses won't mind?" Angela raised an eyebrow at the small box Matthew placed on the floor, between them.

Matthew didn't answer and only glanced down at the box, hoping he was doing the right thing. "This is for the best, dear."

Angela stared at him from the corner of her eye, mentally taking notes of his unease of the situation. She sat bundled in her red velvet cloak and hood, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Glancing over at her husband every few minutes, she bit the side of her lip and studied his profile as he stared out the window of the carriage. "My doctor has requested I go to him, tomorrow afternoon. I should only be gone a day or so." Her brow furrowed when her admission gained not even a shrug from him. "Matthew?" She sighed and turned to look out of the opposite window, on her side. They sat there, in silence, for the remainder of the ride, both lost in their own thoughts.

The carriage came to a stop with a jerk, shaking them out of their musings. Matthew opened the door and stepped out, reaching back for his wife's hand as he helped her out of the carriage. Escorting her inside, he placed his coat on the hook and made his way upstairs, with box in his arms, after kissing Angela's cheek and telling her good night.

The house had been well lit and Marie was finishing the last touches and after lighting the last fireplace, in the parlour, she bid Angela good night but not before asking if there had been anything else for her to do. By then, the sun had set and darkness caped the city. As Marie took her leave, she was stopped by Angela and asked if she had noticed anything different about Matthew. "Different? Not different, ma'am," was the reply. It was uncustomary for the help to speak to the masters of the house as friends, but there had been so much to the contrary that she wanted to say. Marie had noticed, during Angela's absences, that Matthew Jenson became more sombre and depressed and often didn't sleep in his bed or eat a full meal. Instead, he delved into his work each night he brought it home, or didn't come home at all.

"Thank you, Marie. That will be all." Standing at the bottom of the stairs and watching him make his way to the top, Angela slowly undid her cloak and pulled it off of her shoulders, holding the heavy material in her arms. 

Matthew opened the wardrobe door and looked for a spot to put the small box. Finding a small spot on the shelf, above the rack of clothes, he reached up to move a tall pile of papers and slide the box into the space when his hand brushed the pile, knocking down a book, holding the pile down. As the book hit the floor, it opened and spit out a folded piece of paper. Matthew bent down and picked up the paper and book, glancing at the cover of the book and then opening the paper to look at the writing. He glanced from the paper to the page of the book, where the paper had been a place holder. His brow furrowed as the date of the journal entry had been the same date of the hospital form, he held in his hand. Skimming the paragraph of the entry and then the paper, he hadn't heard her walk into their bedroom.

"What are you doing with that?" Angela peered around the door of the wardrobe and stared, wide-eyed, at her husband. "How dare you read my journal!"

Standing up and calming himself from the anger he felt, Matthew cleared his throat. "What is this? You told me you were being treated for migraines, and this says something else? What are you hiding, Angela?" He stood and stared at her, half heartbroken and half hopeful. One hand held the journal open to the entry of April 21 and the other held the release form, from the hospital she stayed in. "Are you ashamed to have me as your husband?"

Angela turned and crossed the room to stand at the edge of the bed, on Matthew's side. "It's not what you think, Matthew. Please let's keep this calm and discuss this as adults." Her back was still to him but she could hear his angry footsteps make the distance before he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him.

"Not what I think?! What am I to think, Angela? You'll take my name and lie with me in bed but refuse my name to our child?! Does our marriage mean so little to you?" Fury built up in him and, for once, he spoke the words he had wanted never to say. "I am your husband, not your whore! As my wife, you should learn your place!"

Eyes widening in terror, Angela shrieked as his gripped her arms tighter. They struggled against one another as he pulled her closer to him, holding her with one hand and reaching for her lavender shirt, with the other. "Stop!" Breaking free and slapping his cheek so hard that he had to keep from losing his balance, she hissed her disagreement. With his face still turned to the side and a halt in his actions, Angela spat an angry retort in between heavy gasps for breath. "You will always be the whore!"

His anger boiled and turning to glare at her, he had to remind himself never to hit a woman, no matter the words of anger. Matthew forced back the swell of intersecting emotions to meet her gaze, hurt by the harsh words that rang in both their ears. Hurt had won the war of his emotions and Matthew backed up and swallowed as he turned around to leave the room, handing her the book and paper beforehand. As he made it to the doorway, the book had slammed against the wall, six inches from where he paused.

"GET OUT!" Angela screamed and panted, eyes boring holes through the material of his blue waistcoat. Crumpling to the floor and sobbing into her hands, the image of Matthew's hurt expression replayed over and over, in her mind, as if scolding her for being so cruel to the man that loved her.

~~~~~~~~

Matthew slouched in the high-backed chair, in the parlour, and stared at the fire in the fireplace. He sat there, all night long, thinking and sobbing and scolding himself for his anger towards her. With a heavy, ragged sigh, he listened to the chimes of the grandfather clock as it struck the hour of six, and pushed himself out of the chair. Meeting Marie, in the foyer, as she came through the door to start work, he asked her to wake him, in the guest room, at 11.

"Yes sir. Mr. Jenson--" Marie paused, not sure to ask her question. "Is everything alright, sir?"

Only nodding wearily, Matthew gave a small smile and made his way upstairs and down the hallway to the last bedroom on the right, before the attic door. Carrying his waistcoat in one hand and running a hand through his hair, with the other, he paused at the closed master bedroom door and listened to Angela moving around, inside. Lowering his eyes to the floor and continuing, he paused again as the door opened and Angela stepped out, into the hallway.

"Matthew--?"

Matthew didn't turn around but only paused, bottom lip trembling at what she might say next. "Yes?"

Angela took a step closer to him. "Might we speak about last night?" Taking the few steps to close the distance, she placed a hand on his left shoulder and stared at his profiled face. "Please. I wish to explain my trips, to you." The hand on his shoulder slid down his arm to interlace her fingers with his. She watched as he slowly looked down at their hands together before he glanced over his shoulder at her and nodded. Taking a ragged breath, she guided him back to their room and closed the door. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Matthew folded his hands in his lap and waited patiently for her explanation. "I'm waiting." He spoke calmly, tiredly.

Nervously fidgeting, Angela moved from the door and came to stand a few steps in front of him, wringing her hands. "When I was a girl, I was in love with a young man, older than I was. We thought our love would be forever but-- it wasn't. He was killed in a buggie accident. Trampled by the horse. Months later, my father decided I was to be his partner's wife. A cruel man, filthy and disgusting. While we were courting, he took me and when something came of it, he denied it was his and shoved me against anything he could find. I lost the child and moved from Boston as soon as I could." Angela could feel his stare weighing on her and started to pace, in front of him, averting her eyes from his gaze. "The specialist, I have been seeing, has been making sure I was still able to have children. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to think ill of me."

"I am not him, Angie." Matthew watched her pace and remained calm as he spoke. "It should be your choice, as well." Unfolding his hands and pushing himself to stand up, he stepped in front of her and stopped her from pacing. "Do you want a child, with me, Angela?" His heart weighed heavily on what she might answer. He had been ready for heartbreak and prepared himself to move on, just in case.

Angela took a breath and jumped slightly as he placed his hands gingerly on her arms. Looking up, into his eyes, she nodded. "Yes, Matthew. I do." Wrapping her arms around him, they kissed and held each other before she let him guide her back to the bed.

 

TBC.


	8. Chapter 8

Kristy ran inside and up the stairs to her room, slamming the door behind her. "Tabby! Tabby! I found something for you!" Tossing the book on the bed, she placed the other books on the floor and then dropped herself to lie across her bed and open the book to the page she had found. "Tabitha! Where are you?" Kristy anxiously looked around her room to see the woman ghost appear. "I found a picture of you!"

By the time Kristy had said the word "picture," Tabitha had appeared, sitting at the desk, on the chair. "Alright, I'm here. You found a photo of me?!" The woman smiled and preened herself as if waiting for invisible cameras to start snapping madly away at her image. Within a blink, she was beside Kristy, lying on the bed on their stomachs and ogling the photos that had been submitted. She watched as Kristy flipped through the pages and paused on one page that contained a half page photo of Tabitha and her boyfriend, the gangster, from 1928. Tabitha's jaw dropped open and she squealed in delight. "That was taken in Chicago. Charlie had a full plate, on that day." She sighed as she stared at the photo of her boyfriend. 

"What was it like, dating a gangster?" Kristy asked, staring at the photo Tabitha had been looking at.

Laughing and shifting her position, Tabitha shrugged. "Not like it was in the movies, doll. Hardly any excitement, except when the fuzz came knocking. EJ had his share of troubles, back then, too."

Kristy's brow furrowed. "EJ? Who's EJ?" Searching for the initials, in the caption of the photo, Kristy was dumbfounded at the name.

"Charlie always referred to his partner as EJ. Never met him but he sure had a fixation on this house."

Kristy started flipping through the pages to see if she could find the elusive "EJ." Stopping on the last page before Capone was mentioned, Kristy gave a questionable look to the woman, again. "What kind of fixation? I doubt Matt would allow this place to be a brothel or anything like that."

Tabitha was silent for a long moment, after hearing the word "brothel" and in a blink she had moved to stand by the window and look out. "I wouldn't say that word too loudly around Matt. He gets kinda squirrely about that. All I know about EJ was that he refused to come visit but Charlie would end up doing everything for him. I think Charlie mentioned that EJ and Sr would do bootleg here, or something. I met Sr once, I think. Just before he died. He had his nurse wheel him up to the walk, in front of the house and was about to come in but, at the last minute he looked up at the attic and split. Screaming something about being haunted and cursed and all that jazz. The old man was a little scrambled in the upstairs, ya know?" Turning back to Kristy and tapping her left temple with her left index finger, she gave the look of knowing the man had been wandering in his old age. 

Thinking about what Tabitha was describing, Kristy moved to pick up the other books that she had dropped on the floor and flipped through the pages. "Is this the old man, you saw?"

Tabitha leaned over to look at the photo of a younger Elmore Jenson. "Yep."

Shifting and sighing, Kristy turned the book around to face Tabitha. "That's Matt's uncle, Elmore. He owned this house. Matt didn't know about the bootlegging?"

Tabitha shook her head. "If Matt was around back then, I never saw him. The only time I did 'see' him, was the day I wasn't supposed to be in the basement. Also, Matt isn't a 'sharing' sorta guy. The next time I saw Matt, I was a bit tipsy from the giggle water and ended up breaking my neck on the tumble down the stairs."

Raising an eyebrow, Kristy became very interested in the one part of the house she hated to go to. "What was in the basement? And, why weren't you allowed to go down there?" She paused and then her eyes lit up as she thought about the era's pasttime. "Secret passages?"

"I don't know what was down there. Everytime I made it to the bottom of the stairs, Charlie's lugs were at the top, asking what I was looking for. One night, I waited til Charlie was asleep and then I crept downstairs. I could hear like this machine running and someone in the back room talking about being correct in their adding and percentages and all that. That was the first time I ever saw Matthew." Tabitha shrugged and moved back to the dressing table to look through Kristy's assortment of nail polishes.

Kristy watched the other woman move around her room. "What did he do?"

Tabitha laughed to herself. "Well, the basement was full of crates that were full of rum bottles and bathtub gin. I squeezed my little self between these two crates, when I heard them open the door. Two of the biggest tubs of mutton came strolling through the door and started to move the crates around me. I think one of them saw me cause he reached for his gun and that's when Matt just 'appeared' behind them and yelled for them stop what they were doing." A smile graced her lips as she remembered her first glimpse of the man that would become her ghostly companion. "He looked so angelic, ya know? The moonlight making him glow, from the window, behind him. Him standing there, bravely, not flinching as they turned and fired into the wall. Although, I think it was when he disappeared and that laugh-- they split outta there like the fuzz was raiding." Her smile brightened and she laughed at the memory of two big men becoming scared of a ghost. "A week later, I took a tumble and" turning to spread her arms and pose with a smile, "voila! Here I am."

Sighing, Kristy stared at the photo of Elmore. "It sounds like your death was a way to get you to stop snooping. I wonder if 'uncle Elmore' was the same, back then, too."

Tabitha shrugged.

A knock on the door before the knob turned and Karen entered. "Kris, everything okay? I heard voices." Karen poked her head in and looked around the room to find Kristy sitting on her bed, staring at the two open books. She panned the room and paused as her eyes met the woman in a creme-coloured Sheba dress, sitting at the dressing table and turned to face the bed. She froze, eyes widening. "Uh, Kris...?"

"Finally!" Kristy slid off of her bed and came closer to Karen, smiling, as she introduced them. "Mom, this is Tabitha. Tabby." Her smile brightened as she turned to look at Tabitha, who now stood and smiled at Karen. "Tabby, this is my mom, Karen."

Karen's expression turned into uncertain shock as she greeted Tabitha. "Hello." Absently holding out her hand for Tabitha to shake, Karen sighed as she was given the same blank expression Matthew had given her when they had met. Recoiling her hand, she was handed one of the open books, by Kristy, and shown the photo of Matthew's uncle, Elmore.

Kristy held the second book in her hand, proud of finding the fact of Matthew's family and the connection between the two ghosts. Leaning in, she whispered, "he looks kinda creepy, to me." Holding up the other book to show her mother. 

Karen looked from the book with Elmore's photo in it to the page with Tabitha and her gangster boyfriend. Her brow furrowed as she looked closer at the people in the background. "Where was this taken?" Her eyed scanned each of the faces of the 20 odd people in the background but focusing on one, in particular.

"Chicago. We were at a convention, I think. Why?" Tabitha came around to stand behind Karen and look at the photo of herself all dolled up and posing as movie star would, with sparkling diamonds and fluffy white fur stole. Tabitha looked more closely, trying to see what or whom Karen was staring at but not having any luck. "That was the night Charlie bought me my beautiful diamonds" she sounded so proud and then let her voice go flat, "then, he moved me to nowhereville." She sighed with defeat.

Karen still stared at the picture of a woman with an older man, in the background, as she asked Kristy to borrow the book. 

"Sure. Why?" Kristy scratched her head in confusion and came to stand on the other side of her mother and look at the photo, as well. "What do you see?"

"Not what. Whom." Reaching for the book, Karen finally looked up at the two women that surrounded her. She wasn't sure she should bring Matthew into the conversation, as it might not sit well with him that his wife had moved on and seeing her photo with someone else, later in life, might not be such a good idea. Then again, bringing Laura into the situation might also be emotionally costly. However, Karen really had no other photo to go on, except from the Archives, but they were closed.

"Okay. Who?"

Karen started to answer as she glanced back down at the photo. "I'm not sure. But, I think, that's Matthew's wife." She pointed to the older woman, in the background, wearing an elegant, dark-coloured evening gown. The woman stood past Charlie's left shoulder, not looking at the camera that had been pointed at Tabitha and Charlie. Her profile showed she was happy, as was the man she had linked arms with. "She's older, there, but I don't think I want to ask him, just yet. I want to make sure it is her, first."

"Why?" Kristy asked, oblivious.

Tabitha smiled, discreetly. "I understand. Matt's had it rough, recounting his life and in his lifetime. I think your mom's tryin' to spare him the added heartache of seeing his love with someone else. I know I could never see Charlie move on from me. I know he took his death hard." She sighed and looked at the woman Karen now pointed to. "She does look happy." Staring at the woman's turned face, she could see how Matthew could fall so far in love with a beautiful woman, even as the woman had aged 23 years. "Kinda looks like that Ingrid lady from Casablanca." Thinking back to that night, her mouth twisted in thought. "I don't remember running into her or the guy. He made some speech about spreading money to get Prohibition repealed and greasing A LOT of palms on the way."

Karen took a deep breath and closed the book. "Just keep this between us, for now. Okay?" As the other two agreed, Karen turned around when she heard Josh call her name from the hallway.

***********

Karen took the day off, on Monday, to visit the Elmore Jenson house which had been dedicated as a museum, forty years prior. Parking in the small lot behind the Mansion, Karen stepped out of her Durango and shut the door, taking a moment to look at the massive Victorian that stood before her. It had been so much more imposing and colder than Matthew's house, on the outside. As she stepped through the entrance way and paused at the small desk to sign the registry, she was greeted by a young woman in her late twenties, looking very professional. "Hello. Is there a fee to look around?"

The woman smiled politely and adjusted her thin-rimmed glasses before nodding. "Yes, the fee is five dollars and the proceeds go to keeping the museum open as well as one of the charities, of your choice." Opening a drawer on her side of the desk and reaching in to a grab a blue, tri-fold pamphlet and hand it to Karen, the woman smiled. "The Jenson family chose these few charities to donate, as apart of the Jenson Foundation. There is also a blank, at the bottom, if you have a personal charity to donate to. Enjoy your visit!" Her long, board straight, brunette hair blew lightly in the breeze from the oscillating fan, beside her. Her blue blazer had matched the business-length skirt she smoothed as she sat down in the comfy computer chair, at the desk and twirled her pen, in her fingers, as she waited for more visitors. Coffee-coloured eyes sparkled up at Karen as she smiled.

"Thank you." Karen looked over the pamphlet and fished the fee out of her billfold. She checked the box for the charity to help sponsor a foster child, as she had a feeling Eleanor and Laura might have had something to say for that specific one, and then made her way into the sitting room, to the left of the grand entrance. 

Karen spent hours reading the small captions and looking at photos, both upstairs and down. She had been through the entire house and hadn't found a single item or mention of Matthew. The final child's bedroom she walked into, with an elderly couple behind her, was simple. A single bed, tucked into the corner of the far left wall with a small table and lamp. The bed was made with a small downe pillow, white linen and a handmade quilt with red and green pinwheel designs. A small bookshelf sat to the right, with several books of Oscar Wilde and dime-store novels, on the first two rows, with a few simple but old toys on the bottom shelf.

The couple muddled through the room and quickly left as it had been unlike the other rooms, fancy and plush with light and expensive trinkets and things. The room Karen now stood in the middle of was simple. A bed, books and bookshelf, a small writing desk placed in front of the window that looked out, over the parking lot Karen had parked in, a plush, high-backed throne chair behind the door and a magenta area rug that covered most of the hard wood floor. The wardrobe doors had been opened and exposed several young boy suits hanging on the left side of the tall oak cabinet. To the right of the hanging space held two shelves; one for shirts, mostly on the top shelf, and the bottom for pants, both had been folded neatly and placed in the middle of the shelf. Two pair of boy's shoes had been lined up, under the hanging suits, on the floor of the cabinet and a cleaned but foggy mirror hung on the inside of the right door. The wardrobe, itself, had been placed between the bookcase and the chair, on the far right wall. It was a big enough room but seemed so small for the things it contained. Karen shivered as she glanced at the seat cushion of the faded chair with a silver framed ambrotype of a 12-year-old boy posed sitting in the chair with a closed book on his lap. His expression had been the same sad expression Karen recognised from the photo, in Matthew's attic. "Matthew's room." Karen's heart nearly broke.

A shiver forced Karen to gasp as the room became suddenly colder and darker, as a fluffy gray cloud loomed overhead, outside. 

As Karen moved from Matthew's room to the Master suite, at the end of the hall, she stared at the large, king sized bed, in the middle of the room was made with a large royal purple velvet quilt and lined with plush pillows of all shapes and sizes, at the head. A leather fainting sofa rested under the twin windows, on the far left wall and a polished mahogany desk protected the matching twin windows on the far right wall. Karen had surmised that two of Matthew's bedrooms would fit in the one large room that was the Master. Dresses and gowns had been displayed neatly in the giant wardrobe, on the right side of the room and neatly pressed suits and shined shoes adorned the wardrobe, on the left.

Framed tintypes and ambrotypes covered the walls of the room, along with oval-shaped mirrors and vases of, now plastic, flowers. The same red roses on the wallpaper had been present in nearly ever room of the house and seemed to darken the feel of the home. One photo that was placed on Cassandra's side of the room, caught Karen's eye. It was a photo of the entire Jenson family. Elmore sat in a throne chair with Cassandra standing to his left and the seven children, including Matthew, gathered around them.

"A lovely photograph, isn't it?" A full-figured woman, as tall as Karen, stood behind her and spoke with a rich voice that hinted at Irish tones. Her dark, auburn hair had been pulled back into a bun and she was dressed in a magenta gown with long sleeves and lace-trimmed blouse.

Karen jumped at the voice of the woman and turned to see the older woman smiling at her. "Yes. Quite a nice family photo." The resemblance to the woman in the photo was uncanny and Karen stumbled over her own words as she tried to initiate conversation. "Very nice home, too."

"Thank you." The woman smiled again. "The family lived here from 1872 to 1936. After Elmore died, in 1936, his youngest daughter and nurse, Caitlyn lived here with her family until 1957. Some of the rooms have been restored to their original appearance, based on the photographs and tintypes. Two new rooms have been opened, since our restoration, in 2014. The maid quarters, upstairs and the Nephew Room, two doors down."

Karen flinched at hearing Matthew being referred to as simply "the nephew." Turning back to the photo, on the wall, she sighed. "Is this him?" She pointed to a young boy of 14, standing in long pants and a simple jacket, standing next to a younger looking boy of 12, to his left and an 11-year-old girl, dressed in a dark sailor-fashioned dress, to his right. 

"Yes. Matthew Jenson came to live with the family for only two years before being sent away to boarding school. He was rarely home, during breaks, as Elmore Jenson, his mother's brother, tried to interest him in different hobbies. Matthew was also sent to work on the trains, in the Depot, when they would come in for repair. Matthew developed a fascination for trains as would often sit on the fainting couch and tell his aunt all about his daily work. That was before Child Labour Laws took effect." The woman glanced at the child in the photo. "Cassandra wrote that she loved Matthew deeply, as a mother did a son. She was devastated when he took his own life."

Karen blinked. "How did Elmore feel about gaining custody of him?"

The woman took a breath. "In Elmore Jenson's personal letters and journals, he loved Matthew, dearly, though he never let on to anyone. He and Matthew both shared a love for photography and literature. His final journal entries comment on remembering consoling young Matthew, as he came to live here, and teaching the boy to ride a horse and find beauty in his surroundings. He also stated that Matthew never asked him for anything extravagant or fancy but would occasionally enjoy going fishing with his uncle and younger cousin, Charles, when time permitted. Matthew and Charles grew up to be best friends and confidantes."

"At least he had love, here." Karen smiled sombrely. When she turned back to ask the woman another question, the woman had vanished and left her alone in the room. Karen looked back at the photo, one last time before leaving. With exception to the girl in the sailor dress, whom she figured had been Roberta, and the time baby in Cassandra's arms, she guessed that Matthew was the only member of the family with blond hair and deep blue eyes. It was an unfair judgment but she surmised that Elmore was hard on Matthew because of his fair looks. Without having seen a photograph of Cora, Karen wondered if he had been a painful reminder to his uncle, of his younger sister, left to fend for herself in Nevada desert.

**********

Josh lay curled on the sofa, watching an old spaghetti western from under a blanket. He had brought his pillow down and munched on several soda crackers. The flu had prevented him from going to school, eating regularly, or sleeping at all. Drowsily, he blinked as the posse of lawmen chased the outlaws that had just robbed the bank of the town and took off with handkerchiefs covering half of their faces. Gunfire erupted back and forth and the show ended in the classic way of the bad guys dying and the money returned to the bank.

Matthew stood in the doorway of the parlour and watched, quietly. His hands slipped into his pockets and he shifted as another western started, this time the show was more sappy and tailored to fit the happy-go-lucky times of the 1950s and 60s. His brow furrowed as the sheriff and Miss Kitty, the resident madam carried on in friendly banter. He blinked back the memories of his childhood as Josh sat up and turned around to call for Karen.

Raising an eyebrow at the forlorn ghost, Josh caught the man's attention and directed it away from the television screen. "What's up with you?" 

Matthew turned to look at Josh, who gave him a questionable look and shook his head. "Nothing." He paused and made his way to the arm of the sofa, the opposite end Josh had curled up on. "Are you feeling any better?" 

Josh shrugged and shifted positions to sit up fully, crossing his legs. "Nope." Turning back to the black and white show as the credits started, Josh glanced back at the man standing by the arm of the sofa, intently watching the television. "Just a dumb western." Josh noted the inhale of recognition as Matthew's attention focused solely on Miss Kitty as she smiled and moved through the crowd of drunken cowboys, in the saloon. He watched as Matthew's expression changed from calm to frightened as two of the cowboys approached the woman. "It's just a show. They ain't gonna hurt her. I've seen this a hundred times."

Looking away, Matthew felt the shame of his mother's profession and his own childhood weigh heavily on him, once again. Not wanting to upset Josh or explain things better left for his mother to do, Matthew sighed and lowered his eyes to the floor. "It was very different in the real Wild West. Not something to be proud or jovial about."

Josh's jaw went slack. "Your mom was a pros--" He was immediately silenced by Matthew's sharp glare out of the corner of his eyes.

"Who was a what?" Karen made her way into the parlour, where Josh had taken up residency on the sofa, and came to sit down beside him. She had drawn attention away from Matthew, and as Josh looked away to see his mother enter the room, Matthew had taken the opportunity to disappear. Carrying a cup of lemon-flavoured flu medicine and a mug of hot water, in her hands, she placed them down, on the table in front of them and began to mix his medicine.

Josh looked from his mother to where Matthew had stood and then looked back as Karen handed him the mug and told him to sip the hot drink, slowly. After the first sip, Josh blanched at the strong taste of citrus and then glanced back to the television. "Mom, did you know Matt's mom was a prostitute?"

Karen sighed with unease of the word "prostitute" and bit her lip. "I did. I also know that he really doesn't appreciate being reminded of his childhood, so harshly. Back then, women weren't like the portrayals of television. They were beaten, treated very rudely and harshly and a lot of them ended up dying because of their profession. The children that were born because of it, were often teased and humiliated and a lot of them never made it to adulthood."

"Oh." Josh felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. "Is that what happened to his mom?"

Karen shook her head. "I don't know. Perhaps, when you apologise to him, for your rudeness, you might get him to tell you about what his childhood was like."

Josh nodded. "Okay." He shrugged at the suggestion of apologising to a ghost but, he remembered standing over the man's lonely grave with only his mother's to keep him company.

Placing a hand on his forehead and then cheek, to check his temperature, Karen smiled softly. "Drink up, get some rest. I'll be back to check on you, in a bit." Patting his knee, she stood and glanced at the television before turning and making her way back to the kitchen.

Josh shifted position to lie back down, on the sofa, and pull the blanket up, around his shoulders, as he watched the mini marathon of the western show. Three episodes later, his eyes closed and Josh fell into a deep sleep that lasted for most of the night. His dreams had been strange and twisted versions of the show he watched and the new information of the ghost of Matthew Jenson. 

Finally, around midnight, he awoke with a started. A single nightlight had been placed in the socket, below the window of the parlour and all other lights and the television had been turned off. "Mom? Matt?" Josh sat up and looked around the darkened room. A green glow from the nightlight seemed the only thing keeping him company. Josh sighed and laid back down, turning so that he was on his back and stared up at the smooth white ceiling. The sound of silence made him uneasy. He fell asleep, again, an hour later. A dreamless, restless sleep. When next he woke, daylight was just pouring in from the lace curtains.

 

TBC.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short but there is alot of emotion into it. Be advised. Character Death!

25, April 1905

The Union Pacific Train Depot

Angela held Matthew's hand as they walked to the platform, together. She sighed, uneasy about the trip. "I shall be alright, dear. It is only one last test, and the doctor seems optimistic. If this works, we will have as many children as you want." She smiled and turned to face him as they stopped a few feet from the entrance to the car. Checking herself to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, she looked up, into his bright blue eyes as the afternoon sun inched its way inside the depot, from the open ceiling. Taking a nervous breath and placing a white gloved hand on her chest, Angela gave a weak smile.

"Are you sure I can't go with you, this time?" Matthew asked, half hoping she would reconsider.

Shaking her head, Angela moved the hand from her chest to place on his cheek. "I'll be alright. You need to be here for Charles. You have new employment, tomorrow. Don't want to miss out on your first day."

Matthew nodded. "Of course. I will miss you." Kissing her open gloved hand, he jumped at the sound of the train whistle calling all riders aboard. "You should go. I love you, Angela Jenson." Kissing her lips and watching her step aboard and disappear into the car hallway, he waved and watched as she poked her head out of the second window to wave back. 

Mouthing the words, "I love you," back to him, they stared at one another for a long moment. Angela took another ragged breath as the final whistle had been blown and the car jerked with a start, knocking her back, into one of two long benches that faced each other. This time the trip felt different. She had made the trip a half dozen times but this time was different. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath was shallow and uneasy and she had rethought his suggestion of accompanying her to the doctor. Looking around the empty car and hearing the approaching conductor calling for tickets, Angela once again stood at the window and leaned out, calling for her husband. Searching the crowd for him, she had no luck and gasped. The feeling, in the pit of her stomach, told her she was doing the wrong thing. Matthew's face had disappeared in the crowd of people hurrying to climb aboard while their families and friends waved farewell to them from the platform.

The Depot's platform whizzed past and the open air surrounded her. She sat back down and jumped as the door slid open and in stepped the conductor, waiting for her ticket. Angela bit her lip as she dug out her ticket and handed it to the conductor and watched him punch the corner. Left alone, in the car, Angela's thoughts recalled that morning's events. She closed her eyes and smiled to herself as she could feel his hands on her skin and his breath, panting in her ear, as they made love. They had spoken about their pasts and Matthew had opened up to reveal his own, painful childhood that he held to himself. Angela had never felt such love and admiration for her husband, until that morning.

A soft moan escaped her as Matthew's sapphire orbs stared into hers. "I love you, too, Matthew Jenson." Standing up and ringing the "Call" bell, she waited for the conductor to hurry back to her car and asked how long before they pulled into Boulder. 

"About an hour or so, Miss. Are you ill?" The elderly man with a well-trimmed white beard and hair, asked as he stood in the doorway.

Angela shook her head. "No. I think there has been a terrible mistake and I wish to postpone my trip until my husband can join me."

"Ticket, please, ma'am. I can grant you a return trip, no charge but I cannot give refunds." The man winked and smiled at her, causing Angela to blush and return the smile as she handed him her ticket.

"Thank you, sir."

*********

The buggie pulled up to the front of the house and stopped. The driver turned and called over his shoulder Matthew's address. A open buggie with facing seats and small doors. The driver sat on a board, high above the seat across from Matthew and held the reins to two tall pintos. "Sir? Your address?" The man turned and called to Matthew, releasing the young man from his thoughts.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you." Matthew stood and paid the driver before opening the door and stepping out. The afternoon sun had a chill as the breeze started to kick up, around him, sweeping the dust up, from the street and blowing it to the next house as the buggie pulled away with the driver's "Ha!" Pausing a moment to yawn and look up at the roof, something flashed in the attic window and caught his eye. Removing his silver plated pocket watch from his right pants pocket, Matthew looked at the time and then glanced back up to the window. Sighing and making his way inside, he removed his long, gray overcoat and hung it on the hook, next to the door, in the entryway. 

Matthew made his way over to the stairs and stared up, at the top, as he took two steps up and paused as a sound caught his attention, from the parlour. Turning and stepping back down, Matthew's brow furrowed as he wondered what the noise was. "Marie?" Opening the french doors and looking around, Matthew walked to the centre of the room and stopped as he glanced around. Looking at his desk, he noticed the drawers on the right side had been opened as he thought back to closing and locking them, the night before. "How did--?" His sentence trailed off as he heard footsteps behind but was unable to turn around and see who was with him as he had been knocked unconscious by something heavy.

When he awoke, he had been placed in a chair, with his hands tied with a silk scarf, from his bedroom, behind him. His head ached and his vision swam as he raised his head to look up and the tall, muscular figures standing before him. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" When neither man answered him, Matthew began to struggle against his bindings until another pair of hands tightened the knots on his restraints, causing Matthew to groan at the pain.

"It's a terrible shame that youth today doesn't grasp the concept of loyalty to a company. Not even," the man's deep voice, speaking from behind Matthew, paused and stepped around to see Matthew's face, "his own family." An eerie smile as the tall man in a pin-striped suit casually slipped his hands into his pants pockets and glared down at Matthew. A dapper man that was clearly bathed in privilege and thought very highly of himself, now stood before Matthew, a single candle lit illuminating the room, behind him.

"Who are you?" Squinting and turning his head to hear the man better, his ears rang loudly. Matthew stared up at the man that stood a few feet away from him and tried to get his eyes to focus on the man's thin face. Looking around himself, he could see the floorboards of the attic, beneath his feet. "What do you want with me?"

The man was silent as he looked down at Matthew, smiling smugly. "A better question would be, 'what could i give you?' I am a patient man, Mr. Jenson. But, sometimes, my patience is tried and I am forced to resort to..... more forceful actions. I've tried poisoning you, buying your silence through your Edward's company errands, and even recruited your uncle's firm standing in his 'Election Fund' but, alas, nothing seems to get through to you."

Matthew sighed in a moment of clarity. "Mister Carter. The anonymous accountholder White had brought in to the company, a year ago." His vision was still blurry but started to clear as he listened to the man.

The man smiled, again. "Dowling. Actually. When everything else failed, I felt I had to appeal to more..... natural incentives. My sister clearly worked her charms, on you, but it wasn't enough. You still meddled where you shouldn't have and now, I have to start all over again. You could have been a very wealthy man, Mr. Jenson. This past election was a disgrace. Had my candidate been elected, this country would be in a better position to crush any countries who stand against us." He referred to the Primary election that subsequently voted against the mob moving in and gaining control over the city and then state all to further the anti-American motion. His employer had been one of few Italian mobs that began taking over other large cities as the growing dislike for Roosevelt erupted. He was an older man, in his mid thirties, with rich brown hair and cool amber eyes, much like his sister's. A thick, bushy mustache, waxed at both ends and curved upward, painted the man as the Devil incarnate.

"There were millions of voters against it. Why blame everything on me?" Matthew groaned as the ringing in his ears hadn't stopped and was becoming annoying.

"Because, my dear boy, you were the one who couldn't be bought. Without your backing, as bookkeeper for the most prominent company, in this sorry state, the enemy has won. You chose to be the Liberal scum, much like your President and halt ruin chances for a greater super power this country has ever seen. Had you have looked the other way, you and your family could have done everything you've ever wanted. So now, I'm afraid _my_ employers are dissatisfied with me and have ordered me to clean up my mess. You understand. Nothing personal." Dowling sighed and nodded to one of the henchmen that stood to his right, holding a long rope with a noose at one end. 

The other man grabbed Matthew by the arms and hoisted him up, to stand on the chair as the other slung the rope over the beam, twice, making sure Matthew was unable to wriggle out of it. "No. Please. Think of your sister. She'll be devastated!" He struggled against the men that forced the noose around his neck and tied the other end to an old trunk he had used to keep his childhood things in.

Nodding, Dowling stepped closer. "Women are fickle. They do not understand a man's world and therefore her thoughts are irrelevant. She'll move on from you and, in time, marry someone of her family's choosing. Your kind has sullied her hands." He paused to lean in closer to Matthew and smugly add, "she never loved you. You were simply a toy to be played with. Goodbye, Mister Jenson." Dowling nodded to the man, standing behind Matthew, to pull the chair away. He watched in morbid delight as Matthew jerked and spasmed before finally going limp. "Shame. The youth of today." Looking up at Matthew's face, he sighed and looked to his two muscled men. "Leave no trace."

**********

Angela was jittery as she sat in her seat, next to the window. She stared aimlessly out the window, wishing the train would move faster. Sitting forward and nervously fidgeting, a worried expression on her face, Angela bit her lip so hard that she drew blood. "Won't this train move any faster?"

"Have some place to be, dear?" An woman with white hair and gold-wire glasses looked up from her crocheting, as she sat across from the anxious young woman.

A slight tremble in her lip as Angela took a deep breath. "My husband. He is ill."

The woman nodded. "How dreadful. I do hope he is alright. My Leonard passed just this past January." She sighed and went back to her crocheting. "Now, I am off to Denver to live with my daughter and her husband." The woman seemed so passive about moving to a different city that she sighed as she offered up the information. "Have you any children, dear?" She smiled and glanced up to make eye contact with Angela.

Angela shook her head. "Not yet." A small smile as she absently placed a trembling hand on her stomach.

Again, the woman smiled. "You must love him very much, to rush home to him."

"I do." Nodding and turning back to look out the window, Angela stared at the moving shadow of the train, on the ground, as it passed over the dirt and shrubs that lined the tracks. The train had an hour to go before pulling back into the Denver station and then she had to flag a carriage to take her home, after fetching her bag from the overhead compartment. A deep, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach rumbled as the train pulled into the station. Her hands shook as the train came to a stop and the passengers began to deboard. The other passengers in her compartment had already gathered their belongings and exited the room, leaving Angela to play tug of war with the overhead racking, as her carpet bag had become snagged on a metal wiring that came loose.

Tugging and wriggling her bag, as she stood on the bench, Angela gave one final tug and fell backward onto the seat across from hers, freeing the bag from its hang up. 

"Are you alright, Miss?" A young cadet passing by opened the door and rushed to help her up.

Angela moved her hat from covering her eyes, to see who was speaking to her. She jumped as he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her to her feet. "Yes, thank you. I'm fine." Righting her waistcoat and smoothing her skirt, Angela finally looked up from herself and was met with two big, brown eyes that stared at her in concern. She smiled as he tipped his hat and opened the door for her, following her out of the compartment and down the narrow hall to the end of the car. 

"Welcome to Denver, ma'am." The conductor tipped his own hat and helped her down the two iron steps to the platform.

Angela shifted the bag from one hand to another and fought against the sizable crowd to make it to the exit. Once outside, she paused to catch her breath and glanced up at the now dark sky. Breathless, she panted her husband's name and rushed to the corner, to flag a carriage. Having the carriage she crawled into, rush home, Angela paid the driver and rushed inside, calling Matthew's name. Frantically, she went from room to room until she made it to the attic door. 

Pausing a moment, a shaky hand outstretched and reaching for the knob, she prayed the house was empty and that Matthew was either at his new job or at his uncle's house, six blocks away. Using her other hand to help steady the hand on the doorknob, Angela turned it and opened the door. Calming herself and repeating quietly, "he's not here. He's not here." Angela stepped into the attic and turned to rush to her husband's aid. "NOOOO! Matthew! Please! HELP! Somebody, please help me!" She screamed as tears streaked down her cheeks. Wrapping her arms around his legs and struggling to lift him up, she tried to no avail. Finally, she crumpled to the floor and burst into tears as her pleas went unheeded.

"Good gracious!" Marie exclaimed as she stopped in the doorway to the attic. Hearing the sobs and screams of Angela, she raced over to pull the woman to her feet and help her bring her limp husband's body down from the rope. "I am dreadfully sorry, ma'am. I was up the walk when I heard your screaming." The two women laid Matthew down on the floor and paused to catch their breath. Marie reached a fragile hand to his cheek, feeling the coolness of his skin. Her worst fears were made real. "He's dead, ma'am," was the soft response.

Matthew's hands had been unbound and lie limply at his sides. Angela wiped her tears and clutched his left hand, holding it to her cheek. "No. Come back, my Matthew. Please come back. I'm sorry I left you." Distraught, Angela crumpled against his still chest and sobbed, heartbroken.

Marie sat there for a moment and then shoved herself to her feet. "I'll fetch the constable and then rouse Mister Elmore."

 

TBC.


	10. Chapter 10

14, June 1931

A lazy afternoon turned into an even lazier evening. A gentle, cool touch to her left cheek brought her to wake up from her dozing as Tabitha stretched herself out, into the mattress of the large queen-sized bed. Wrapping herself up, into the silk linen and pulling her head under the fluffy down pillow. She had been awake for some time but lacked the strength to crawl out of bed after the wild party she and her fiance had thrown, the night before. She groaned and breathed in the clean scent of the sheets beneath her. As her arms stretched out to find the coolest spot of the sheet, she pushed herself up from lying on her stomach to find herself in the middle of the shared bed, alone. "Charlie?" Long brown hair fell down, over her shoulders and scraped the mattress as she adjusted her position to sit and face the tall, white wood headboard.

A deep breath and a quick shiver from the lack of clothing on her slim frame. Drawing the top sheet up and around her like she would wrap a towel, after stepping out of the bath, Tabitha moved to slide off of the bed and make her way over to the door, from Charlie's side of the bed. Charlie had let Tabitha furnish the house and place furniture where she pleased, in the house. She had placed the bed at an angle, in the corner, to the right of the door, leaving the rest of the room for dressers and a mini bar, placed in front of the bay window, to the far left.

Padding over to the door, holding the sheet with her right hand, she grabbed the brass knob of the door and paused as a sound came from behind her. Tabitha turned her head and then her body around, staring at the bay window. She had hung red, sheer drapes over the window but, in the midst of the party and after thought, they had forgotten to close them before collapsing into bed, the late night before. Throw pillows carelessly flung onto the floor, in front of the bench and a large and heavy wool blanket, left in a pile, on the bench hadn't left much of a hiding place, in case Charlie had felt playful. "Charlie? Are you hiding, over there?" She giggled and padded her way over to poke at the blanket but found it void of her lover. Drawing the sheet around her closer, she exhaled and a small cloud of mist escaped.

Tabitha made her way over to her mahogany dresser and vanity, past the end of the bed and to the right of the fireplace, and quickly dressed herself in a long blue robe, from the bottom drawer, discarding the sheet and leaving it on the floor, where it fell. As she hurried out of the room, she glanced back and, for a brief moment, caught a glimpse of a slendre shadow, sitting on the bench of the window. As she exited the room, she paused and took a deep breath, releasing the warm air. The bedroom had been so cold, almost winter temperature, but the hallway was warm with the summer air that filtered in from the open windows of the downstairs.

Making her way downstairs, she found Charlie sitting in the Conservatory, at a small wrought iron table and chairs, having a brandy and reading the afternoon paper. "Mornin' doll." Coming to a stop behind him, Tabitha bent over his right shoulder and kissed his cheek.

Charlie didn't move from reading the Sports page. He didn't even look up as she sat down across from him. "It's afternoon, Baby." Francis Charles O'Shane was more than 15 years older than Tabitha and despised being called by his first name. With the newspaper held high, dividing eyesight of each other, he lowered it and reached for his tumbler, on the table beside him, glancing up at her. "Slip into some skins, baby, company's coming." 

"I think I might wait until the afternoon chill dissolves. Does it seem cold, to you, in the bedroom?" Tabitha poured herself a glass of brandy from the crystal decanter Charlie had sitting in the middle of the table, next to a second glass. She shivered as she raised the tumbler to her lips.

Charlie raised a dark eyebrow as he looked at her from around the side of the paper. "You call last night 'cold'?" He was clean-shaven with short black hair and thin mustache. His emerald eyes stared at her coyly.

Swallowing her third sip, she shook her head. "Not last night, this morning. I woke up and it was like being outside in a Milwaukee snowstorm. Especially over by that window with the bench. Summer or not, it's always freezin' over there." Another shiver rattled through her and she clutched the lapels of the robe closely, with her free hand.

A crooked smile graced his lips. "Well, jump up and get dressed, baby, they'll be here any minute." He winked as the door chimed and the armed bodyguard, standing silently in the corner of the room, moved to answer it. His smile widened as he watched her walk back around, in front of him, and leave the Conservatory.

Tabitha held her drink in one hand and the railing, in the other, and climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Taking a deep breath and slowly opening the door, she peeked in before entering and making her way over to the vanity dresser, in the far right corner. The chill of the room had dissipated and Tabitha took that as a sign to dress quickly and leave before it came back. As she walked over to the tall wardrobe that had been left with the house, she opened the door and pulled out a peach, lace dress with matching high-heeled shoes. Tabitha turned back to admire herself and fix her fitting, in the vanity above the dresser and froze as she saw a man's awed expression staring back at her.

Taking a step forward, the young man vanished. "I don't know who you are or what you want but, stay out of my bedroom. And, give a lady some privacy. Please." Tossing the dress, still on the hanger, on the bed and the shoes on the floor, she quickly dropped her robe to the floor and slipped into her dress before quickly grabbing a pair of white lace panties from the top left drawer of the dresser. She sighed again and grabbed her hairbrush from the top of the dresser and started brushing her long brunette hair, humming to herself as she strolled back over to the bed and sat down, focusing on one long lock of hair, covering her right ear.

As the late afternoon wore on, Tabitha opened the bedroom door and made her way to the top of the stairs and looked down, into the foyer. The lights had been on and the curtains still open, letting in the fading sunlight. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Craning her neck to hear better as she stepped down onto the first step, to go down, she continued carefully while listening for voices. As she reached the foyer floor, she took a quick glance around, into the kitchen and Conservatory but found them both empty. She knew better than to announce to Charlie and ask where he was, in case the fuzz was listening so, she quietly made her way through the kitchen and stopped at the basement door after hearing a whirring sound.

Tabitha placed a steady hand on the knob and slowly turned it, easing the door open slightly and peeking in to see if anyone heard her. Carefully, she slipped onto the top stair and descended with caution. As Tabitha made it to the bottom, she spotted the pile of firewood, in the corner, across from the stairs, so if she was caught she could say she was getting some firewood for the bedroom. The wide and cluttered basement held a room, at the back, with a light coming from the door which had been cracked open and sounds of the whirring machinery and heavy, loud voices coming from it. She heard Charlie's voice and he sounded angry. For an Irishman, he had kept his temper under control, in front of her, but when he was around his mob, that control was gone. Still, intrigued, she crept closer.

Nearing the door and crouching down, Tabitha peeked through the crack at what they were doing and absently gasped at the large printing press, in the middle of the room. Scooting back and moving to hide behind some large barrels of ink and casks of whiskey, Tabitha held her breath and covered her mouth as two muscled thugs opened the door and stepped out, into the dark basement, to search for the noise. Ducking lower, her right arm bumped a box and caught the attention of the man standing closest to her. By now, the sun had set and the only light that came into the basement was that from the small room the men came out of. She was thankful she was hidden in darkness and nervously inhaled as he stepped closer to her.

A figure appeared on the landing of the basement stairs and caught the men's attention before darting up the stairs and out of the basement. The second man, in a gray suit, removed his pistol from his shoulder holster and fired two shots, going through the dark figure and hitting the wall, behind it.

"Stop shooting! You want the fuzz in here?!" Charlie screamed from the door.

The thug in the gray suit turned back, uncocking his gun and blinking at his boss. "There was a kid in here. Ran upstairs."

Charlie glared and gritted his teeth. "Then find him and deal with him, quietly." Turning back, he paused and glanced in Tabitha's direction. "Bring the ink inside, once you find him." 

Tabitha shivered and let out an easy breath as Charlie went back into the room and closed the door. "Thanks man, whoever you were." As she turned to stand up, her arm bumped the same small box as before and knocked over a book that had been leaning against it. Picking it up and wiping it off with her hand, she opened it carefully and red the name on the inside cover; "Angela E. N. Dowling Jenson. Jenson?" she whispered. Removing her shoes and quickly making her way upstairs, Tabitha checked the first floor for any sign of being spotted and hurried up to the attic, where she knew the two thugs wouldn't come looking for her, and sat down to read what she had found, by candlelight.

She had made herself comfortable on the floor, in the middle of the room, leaning against the old trunk that had seen better days. Tabitha knew she was breaking the unwritten law of reading another woman's diary but something inside her, spurred her on. The name hadn't rang any bells, nor had the snapshot placed between the last two entries. Biting her bottom lip, she suddenly felt the same chill she had felt in her bedroom, hours prior.

A short time later, a car's brakes squealed as it came to a stop, in front of the house. An old man in a wheelchair, and his young nurse, exited the car and made their way up the walk before the man stopped her pushing halfway and stared wide-eyed, up at the attic window that overlooked the street. Tabitha stared down, from the window and watched the man demand to be turned around and pushed back to the car. She watched until Charlie was forced to come outside and sit in the car while the nurse waited on the front step. Hurriedly, Tabitha gathered the candle and shoved the book into the large, dusty trunk that sat against the far wall before making her way back downstairs and into her bedroom.

***********

A week had passed and Josh had moved upstairs, to his room, and sat up, in bed, reading a comic book. He had finished his cup of chicken and stars soup, Karen had made for him, and now was dreading taking his medicine for his coughing and sneezing that had taken hold of his chest and sinuses. Sneeze after sneeze and cough after cough, Josh had become bored and exhausted of his flu-turned-cold and longed for the day he was well and could go outside to play ball. On the next sneeze, Josh sneezed into the crook of his arm, forcing him to close his eyes. When he opened them, Matthew stood at the foot of his bed, his hands behind his back. 

"How are you feeling?" Matthew blinked down at the ill pre-teen.

Josh put the comic down on his lap and sarcastically raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'll run that race, this afternoon, grandma." Closing his eyes and raising a hand as if reaching for Matthew, Josh feigned delirium.

Matthew's brow furrowed as he looked around himself. "Are you thinking I am your grandmother?" A smirk on Josh's face told Matthew he had been the recipient of a joke. 

"Um, it was a joke." Josh admitted, sounding stuffed up. His head felt as if it were filled with cotton balls and his mouth was as dry as the desert, no matter how much water he drank.

Matthew nodded. "I see. A funny joke, at that." He had spoken so carefully and softly that he seemed almost hurt to have been witness to Josh's humour. A corner of his mouth had twitched up, implying he gave humour to the joke, as well, but it was short lived as his smiled faded. "I'll leave you to your rest, then." Turning to leave, he glanced down at a pile of comics, on the floor. He had been curious about reading the books that gave Josh such enjoyment but knew better not to touch what didn't belong to him. His uncle had forbidden him to read dime store novels and partake in such childishness as practical jokes or act as one of those feral beast Elmore had said of the rowdy outlaws Matthew had grown up around.

Josh sighed and leaned forward, annoyed. "Why do you always do that?"

Matthew paused. "Do what? I don't understand."

"Every time I try and joke around with you, you run off like a scared rabbit. Didn't you ever joke around, with anyone?"

"Yes. One or two." Matthew paused a moment and seemed uncomfortable in the admission. "You seem not to enjoy my company very much so, I try not to upset you. I was merely inquiring as to your health. So, please tell me, Joshua," he took a breath "what is it you wish of me?" He stood there, for once glad his heart didn't beat as to spare himself the pain of losing yet another friend.

"Nothing." Josh seemed a bit defensive in the answer. 

"Do you wish not to see me, anymore? Since your father was here, you seem to have a thorn, for me."

"No." Sighing, Josh sneezed again, into the crook of his arm. "Wait. Please." Josh sighed and averted his eyes, briefly, as he worked up the courage to apologise. Clearing his throat and shifting again, he coughed into his right shoulder and then turned back to see Matthew still standing patiently, at the end of his bed. "Mom says I have to apologise for yelling at you, after you.... after my dad was arrested. I know it wasn't your fault and you were just protectin' us. So, I'm sorry for saying that I didn't believe in you, anymore, and the other stuff. So, I guess we can still be friends. If you want...?" Josh shrugged and averted his gaze as the weight of Matthew's calm stare nudged at his conscience.

"If you wish." Matthew nodded curtly. "Thank you for apologising, Joshua. I'll leave you to your rest."

Josh bit his lip, in thought. "Hey, Matt?"

Matthew had stopped from turning away and disappearing and looked back as Josh sneezed again.

After catching his breath from a chain-reaction of sneezes, Josh offered the ghost a place to sit, at the end of his bed, and worded his question carefully. "What was it like back then? I mean, when you were a kid." He blinked up at the confusion of the question on Matthew's face but grinned as the ghost calmly walked around to sit on the edge of the bed and smiled sombrely. They had talked for an hour before Josh started yawning and easing himself to lie down, in bed, as he listened to Matthew recount his childhood. Josh had asked what seemed like a thousand questions and Matthew did his best to answer them.

"Rest now, Joshua. We shall continue this, at a later date." Matthew smiled and pulled the covers over Josh's right shoulder, as the teen yawned and rolled onto his left side, fighting to keep his eyes open to talk to Matthew. As he left, Matthew had turned off the bedroom light and took one last long look at the sleeping boy, glad he had a friend, again.

**********

25, April 1910

A loud clack as the door was unlocked and opened with an ear-piercing screech from lack of being oiled on a regular basis. It had taken a year for Matthew's will to be settled and finalised, between the Jenson family and Angela, who fought for the right to keep her late husband's home. She had withdrawn her plea as her brother had forced her out of the house by promising her to an oil tycoon. It had been a bittersweet victory for Elmore as, though he had kept the house that had been signed over to him, the night before Matthew died, he had still lost a nephew.

Elmore stepped inside and paused in the empty foyer. Taking a heavy breath, he looked about himself. White sheets covered the furniture and gave the house a ghostly feel. It was cold, inside, and Elmore shivered beneath his long, brown wool coat. Turning his head and staring at the sheet covered desk and chair, in the Parlour, Elmore made his way over to it and stopped at the chair, placing a hand on the arm of it. "Too much business left to do and not enough time for my own kin."

After a long, quiet moment of listening to the house settle, he made his way upstairs, past the bedrooms that were also cloaked in white sheeting around the furniture. Elmore stopped and stared at the knob on the attic door. His heart beat loudly in his chest. Finally, he swallowed his pride and turned the knob and with a rush of bitter cold air, the door opened with a loud cracking sound of a door that hadn't been opened in five long years. With a heavy sigh and lead feet, Elmore ascended the stairs, feeling the deep sting of frigid air with every step upwards. As he made it to the attic door, he could feel the weight of sadness overcome him. Pressing himself forward, he opened the door and made his way inside, stopping underneath the crossbeam, in the middle of the room. 

"Forgive a foolish old man, dear boy. I should have loved you as I have my own children. Perhaps then, you would still be here. I've failed to protect you, as I should have. I wish I could do it again and spare you the torture I've placed upon you." Elmore whispered to the beam as he stared upward. Another shiver that seemed to go right through him, creating clouds of breath as he exhaled. A shadow caught his sight and he looked down, at the window looking out to the front walk. "Matthew--?"

Matthew stood quietly and straight, shaking his head slowly at the shocked, elder man. 

"Am I not forgiven, nephew?"

Matthew only blinked sorrowfully and opened his mouth to speak but hadn't the chance as he faded from Elmore's sight, leaving the old man alone in the freezing room.

**********

Karen flipped on the light to the kitchen and yawned as she drug her feet over to the cabinet, above the coffee pot, and removed a clean, clear glass mug from the bottom shelf. She pushed the button on the maker and waited for the coffee pot to burble to life with the sounds of siphoning water from the reservoir. Making her way to the refrigerator, she opened the door and bent over to look inside, for the creamer. Finding the bottle of Hazelnut creamer and standing up, Karen gasped and immediately dropped the bottle of creamer. "Tabitha, right?" She smiled and gave a nervous laugh. She had been so busy dealing with Matthew's estranged history and her own family's daily life that she had completely forgotten about the woman ghost.

Tabitha smiled. "I'm sorry I scared you, sweetcakes. I tend to forget I'm just a ghost." The smile widened as she winked at Karen, who closed the refrigerator door, between them and bent down to pick up the bottle of creamer. "I was actually wondering about something, though." Her dress shimmered in the kitchen light.

"Wondering what?" Karen stood up and made her way back over to the coffee maker was happily making a pot of coffee.

Tabitha inhaled. "I know you're figuring out Matt's death an' all and it's really a muddy mess, and he's not really a big bundle of knowledge. But, I was thinking......" Her voice trailed off as she caught Karen's eye.

"You were wondering if I could help you, too. Right?" Karen removed the decanter from the warming plate and poured her coffee before replacing it and mixing in her creamer. When she turned back to see the woman now standing next to her, she jumped slightly, again. "You really should stop doing that." She sighed. With it being the middle of the night, Karen was admittedly jumpy but no matter how tired she was, she was unable to fall asleep.

Tabitha pressed her lips together and sighed. "Well, that too. But, I was actually thinking that -if you really are going to help Matt out of his predicament- I might be able to help. You are serious about helping him. Aren't you?" She followed Karen over to the table and watched her sit down, her back to the window to the backyard.

Karen's brow furrowed. "Why do you think I won't? Or, don't you want me to?"

Tabitha came closer and sat down across from her. "I don't want him hurt, again."

"Again?"

Sighing and leaning back in the chair, Tabitha studied Karen, before answering. "Since I've known him, that is, since we've been stuck here, together, the living have tried everything they could think of to get rid of us. Holy water, baptisms, black salt, smudgings, exorcisms, ghost huntings and so on. He's been the joke of town, even before I was dead. With what you are uncovering about him, I would hate to see him hurt by half-hearted gatherings and when you get too close to finishing, you just leave. I've been here, with him, a long time. But, he's been alone for a lot longer." She paused, again studying Karen's expression. 

Karen sipped at her coffee and raised an eyebrow. "I know the kids are fond of you two and I have no intention of backing down or leaving this alone. I know what he's been through and my heart breaks for him." She sighed. 

"Good." Tabitha smiled and relaxed her posture. "We can continue."

Karen admired the woman's protectiveness over the gentleman ghost. "You must really love him."

Blushing, Tabitha blinked and eyed the cup of coffee in Karen's hand. "He deserves peace. And, I'm gettin' kinda tired of these walls." Tabitha waited for Karen to take another sip and swallow before explaining her theory. Her eyes followed the mug as Karen lowered it to the table. "Before I died, I found something, down in the cellar, that I think might help you."

"What?"

"Her diary."

Opening her mouth and promptly shutting it again, Karen sat back. "Whose diary?"

"Angela's."

Karen's mouth opened in shock. "She left it here? Didn't he know?"

Shaking her head, Tabitha shrugged. 

"Okay. Where did you see it?"

"Oh, after 80 years, it might have grown walking sticks and split."

Cursing the moment, Karen sighed, annoyed with elusive clue. "One step forward and two steps back." Silence between the two women as they each thought of the next steps. "How did you find it in the basement?" Taking another sip and wrinkling her nose at the taste of cold coffee, Karen excused herself to warm up her half-gone coffee. When she turned back, she found Tabitha hadn't moved from her spot, not even turning her head to look at her.

"It doesn't matter."

Karen deflated. "Then, where do we start looking?"

Tabitha smiled, crookedly. "You're really gun ho into this, aren't you?" She seemed pleased to know that someone was finally willing to help out but, scared just the same. Scared of the ending for both Matthew and herself.

Pausing and remembering herself, Karen smiled, embarrassed. "You both deserve rest."

The answer caught Tabitha off guard and she paused, after hearing it, and smiled. Nodding, she thought. "I suppose, we start in the basement and work our way up."

 

TBC. (Next year)


	11. Chapter 11

The common temperature of the basement was a cool 60 degrees. The stairs were carpeted with a squash orange berber carpet while a large mother of pearl area rug covered the middle space of the room. The lightswitch, at the top of the stairs worked only half of the time and Karen had to flick it on and off, several times, to get the light to stay on before making her way to the bottom landing, where Tabitha was already waiting. 

Karen shivered as she stepped down, taking steps one by one. 

Tabitha had pointed Karen in the direction of her hiding place and did her best to recount the night's happenings, for her. "There," she pointed to the far end of the room, next to a cement outline of a doorway, sitting next to it was the brand new washer and dryer Karen had bought, after her divorce. "To the right of the door, there were some crates and barrels and boxes of Charlie's stuff and behind that, there were some really old boxes and a small trunk." The room had been mostly empty, save for the new appliances and shelving unit Eleanor had put up, prior to selling the house.

Walking over to the outline of the door, Tabitha "hmmed." She stared at the layered bricks for a long moment bit her cheek. "The fuzz musta caught on." She wondered when the bricks were placed as she hadn't remembered anything before 1958, when she and Matthew had to keep a few rowdy teenagers from destroying the derelict house.

"The what? Oh." Karen busied herself with looking around the room for anymore doorspaces or boxes that weren't from their move. "I don't see a book or a box. Any idea when that happened?" She nodded over to the bricked doorway.

Tabitha shook her head. "Nope. Sorry. Everything's a bit fuzzy. Maybe they moved everything inside and then walled it up?"

"Possible." Karen tapped a finger to her lips, in thought. "How long did it take you and Matt to figure out how to be seen? Err, how are you able to move stuff?"

Laughing, Tabitha shrugged. "Matt had it down to an art, when I died. But, he died twenty something years before me so, he had the practise. I guess there wasn't anything else to do, back then. He seemed to be really focused on getting his family to see him, for some reason. But, I think it took me maybe.... ten years to catch on...? We mainly stayed in the attic, until everything was clear down here. Why?"

"Thinking." Karen stared at the wall. "Do you think you could get into that room and see what's there?"

Tabitha shrugged. "Sure." Within a second she was gone from the basement, leaving Karen alone with only the single burning lightbulb, overhead. When she returned, she shook her head in answer. "Nothing. Sorry darling. The dusty old machines are still there but no boxes."

Much to Karen's chagrin, they had reached a dead end. "Are there any more....?" Her voice trailed off as she thought about Laura and her fascination with Matthew and his house.

"Any more what?" Tabitha raised an eyebrow and waited for the rest of the thought. "Hello...?"

Shaking herself back into the current spot, Karen was silent a moment before continuing. "Oh. Are there any more hidden rooms, in the house?"

Tabitha raised an eyebrow as she thought about what she knew of the house. "Matt would be the one to ask. I only lived here for about a year and really, was either some place else or not allowed to feel 'adventurous,' if ya get my drift. What's the thinking, sister?" A clever smirk lit up her face as she felt a noir version of her era coming back to her.

Inhaling deeply and biting her lower lip, Karen grinned. "I have a friend who might be able to help, before we go to Matthew with this."

Nodding, Tabitha understood. "I getcha. All this prying might get overwhelming, you know? But, we should really think of how we're gonna take it to him. My only hang up is I didn't want to leave him alone. It's kinda hard to walk into the light with that handsome, blue-eyed kid staring at ya like a lost puppy, ya know?" She shrugged and looked around the basement, trying not to draw attention to her blushing as she described him. She had feelings for him for over 40 years but never brought herself to tell him as he had remained in love with his wife, even though she had left him and married another not long after the funeral. "So, who's the friend?"

Karen exhaled. "One of Matt's great great grandcousins. She might be able to pin down some spots, in the house, that even Matthew has forgotten about." She smiled at her cleverness.

Agreeing with the idea, Tabitha nodded. "Just one question. If you're going to bring her here, and go through the house, how are you gonna keep Matty from finding out? This ain't like planning a surprise birthday for him." Cocking her head to the side and blinking, she waited for Karen to answer.

"Uh, heh." Karen had forgotten the simple detail. This had been Matthew's house and he had domain over the entirety, even though, his manners had been the gentlemanly sort, he was still able to be anywhere he pleased, without permission. "I'll get back to you on that. Right now, I've got to get some sleep and get up for work, tomorrow. No sense being a pajama detective when I'm really half awake." She looked down at her pajamas and fuzzy slippers and grinned, embarrassed by her appearance.

"Okie doke. Also, just what do you intend on doing with her diary? Once we've found it, that is. It's way too late to prove anything to the townspeople. They made up their minds about him, a long time ago." Tabitha hated voicing it but needed to be the voice of reason. She detested wild goose chases.

Karen sighed. "Perhaps it's a bit late but, if they can pardon Billy The Kid 100 years after his death, they just might change their minds about Matthew. He didn't deserve the backlash, suicide or not." Her fists clenched absently as she thought about the circumstances and she could feel her jaw tightening before realising her surroundings. "Sorry. It's a very personal button to push, for me. 

***********

Kristy had managed to get herself a part time job at a local burger joint as well as make a few friends and one love interest, along the way. Karen had given her an ultimatum for the summer; visit her father and friends in Boulder, or get a part time job to save up for a car. Kristy had thought for an hour on it and though she missed her friends, her cheek still stung from where her dad's hand had slapped her. She had hugged her brother and told him to tell their dad "hello" for her, as she offered to stay behind and sleep in, on her day off from work.

Sitting at the kitchen table and busying herself on her laptop, Kristy paused a moment to listen to the quiet of the house. She sat back and closed her eyes, enjoying the silence. The sound of her cell phone chirping a new message awakened her from her daydream. "Hello? Hey, Paul!" A smile formed and with it, a blush reddened her cheeks. She had been waiting for the day when her Science class crush would call her and ask her out. "Um, I'm just hanging out at home. What's going on? My mom is taking my brother to Boulder, to spend it with my dad." Kristy paused a moment as he spoke. "Yea, I'd love to catch a movie. Where?" Her eyes widened as he proposed to watch it there. "Here? Um, sure!" Her heart raced as she thought about rushing to clean up the downstairs and prepare snacks and drinks before he arrived. Biting the side of her lip, Kristy ended the call and immediately ran upstairs to freshen up and then focus on the parlour.

Kristy fixed her hair and makeup and changed her clothes from her Betty Boop pajama bottoms and gray sweatshirt to a white, short-sleeved blouse with tiny blue flowers running along the edge of the collar and shorts with the cuffs rolled up at the bottom. Her last piece of attire was her sheer anklet socks and baby blue tennis shoes that tapped softly as she made her way out of her room and down the hallway. Skipping back downstairs, she turned the corner to head for the parlour but stopped short as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Matthew! You scared me half to death."

"Are you expecting company, Kristin?" Matthew stood in the doorway of the parlour, his hands behind his back. He stood so patiently as if waiting to be invited but knew he was not able to be apart of the afternoon. 

Biting her lower lip, Kristy blushed and gave a nervous smile. "Yea. He's just a boy from school. We're just gonna hang out and watch some movies."

"The young man that walked you home from school?" Matthew inquired, getting a feel for the impending company.

A smile beamed on Kristy's lips. "Yep. Isn't he gorgeous?" In a nervous habit, she picked at her nails, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks as she blushed.

Matthew blinked and looked around her for Karen. "Young ladies require chaperones. A young man might have ulterior motives to his thoughts." He was concerned for her welfare and safety as his knowledge of how the behaviour of teenaged boys and young men had changed since he courted his bride, a century prior. "Is your mother at home? Joshua?" He had promised Josh that he wouldn't meddle with their affairs, again but didn't think it was entirely just to leave Kristy alone with a boy she hadn't known for long.

"Uh, no. She took Josh up to see my dad for the summer." Kristy shrugged. "She'll be back later." Blinking innocently up at him, she smiled at the look of concern on his face. "Relax, grampa. I'll make sure to get a blood sample, accurate history, mental health records and....." She paused and grinned as she watched his eyebrows knit together is utter confusion. "Matt, it's the middle of the day. Nothing'll happen. He's a good guy. Besides, Tabby and you will no doubt be hanging around, right? So, technically, you'll be my chaperone...... as long as you do it from another room." As Kristy finished her reassurance, the doorbell chimed, indicating that Paul had arrived. "Oh god, he's here! Matt, please don't take this the wrong way but um, get lost." Breezing past him, Kristy quickly shoved the magazines to one side of the coffee table and fluffed the pillows of the sofa before trying not to rush to the door to let Paul in.

Halting before she opened the door, Kristy took one last look around to make sure Matthew and Tabitha were out of view and that the house was guest-worthy enough to let him in. Exhaling a deep breath, she opened the door with a large smile. "Hi.... Paul?"

A young man, six months older than Kristy stood with his back to the door and leaning against the post on the right side of the steps up to the porch. Short brown hair on the sides and long bangs that constantly fell into his brown eyes. A handsome young man with big dreams of following in his grandpa's footsteps and becoming a city contractor, after a few years in the major leagues. Paul Hardy stared out at the street. He heard the door open and Kristy's voice greeting him but waited until she came closer to turn around. "I just realised my uncle and his friends used to hang out here, a long time ago."

"Yea, huh?" Kristy's eyebrows raised in intrigue.

Paul pushed off of the post and grinned as he recalled his uncle's account of things. "Yea, they used to have like parties and stuff here. It belonged to this gangster guy, in the 20s or 30s, that left a stash of bootleg gin, in the basement but there was like this really old creepy guy that would scare them away whenever they would break in." Paul shrugged and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. Paul peered inside the house, through the open door. "He said this place was haunted."

Kristy laughed nervously. "Haunted? No. Not quite."

An awkward moment of silence hit them and Paul found himself staring at the open door. "So, are we gonna watch a movie or, hang out here?" He hadn't been overly eager to get inside the house he had heard conflicting stories about but had been interested in Kristy.

"I don't know. Are you sure you want to come in? There's ghosts and ghouls, ya know?" Kristy joked and winked at him as she caught a blush on his cheeks.

Paul scoffed. "I don't believe in ghosts."

Kristy quirked a knowing grin and waved him inside. "Come on, then." Walking in behind him and closing the door, she ushered him into the kitchen, for snacks, and stopped at the countre. "Is that all he told you about this place?" She knew Matthew would be lurking but wanted to know what outside people had heard about the house. She paused with her hand on the door to the refrigerator and gave him a coy smile.

Paul stopped in the middle of the room and looked around before meeting her gaze. He shrugged and rocked back on his heels. "Just that there was a bloody murder here, or something. Like, this old guy that lived here, in the dirt-street days, strangled his wife or she stabbed him to death, or something. I don't know. It depends on who ya ask about it." He paused as the house creaked and groaned, from above him. "There was this old lady that grew up around here. My grandma took care of her, when she was in the nursing home, back in the 70s. Anyway, she said that she heard them having a knock-down-drag-out fight, one night. Her dad was like the town doc, or something. Another story was that he killed himself after his wife left him and some twisted thing about a baby. I don't know." Another shrug as he looked away. "The stories get pretty out there. The worst one, was that his wife hired a hitman to croak the guy while she was out of town on so-called 'business' or some bull."

Raising an eyebrow at the outlandish stories Paul was apprising her of, Kristy felt embarrassed for Matthew and all he had endured, over the years. She could feel the air thicken and a give a slight chill and knew her ghostly chaperone was eavesdropping. Pursing her lips together in anger, she shook her head. "No. Not all of that's true." A part of her hoped he hadn't been lurking close enough to hear the horror stories Paul was divulging.

"I don't know. What I read of this Elmo guy, he was into some pretty hefty dealings with some really bad dudes. I mean bad, like the mob and stuff. Worse yet, he let his own nephew take the fall for him. That part didn't come out until way later but, by then, it was all said and done so, no one really held him accountable." Paul sighed. Tossing his head slightly to brush the bangs out of his eyes, he gave a weak smile and turned to look behind him, as if feeling the weight of someone staring at him from behind.

Kristy nodded, nonchalantly. Opening the refrigerator door and grabbing two cans of RC cola, Paul's favourite drink and slowly became hers, she walked back over to him, nudging the door closed with her elbow, and handed him a can. "What do you think happened?" Motioning for them to make their way into the parlour.

Paul shrugged his shoulders and opened the can, taking a sip before following her to the other room. "Dunno. The guy that lived here was some sort of recluse. Like he hated to be out in public, or something." He scoffed and sat down on the end of the sofa. "I think people make up stories when the actual people don't talk to them. Who cares if it's true or not? It's what makes a great ghost story. Mr. Gelder's dad lived here all his life and was like only five when the dead guy moved in. Mr. Gelder is like in his late 80s, ya know? The man's like a walking museum." Paul sat back, on the seatcushion and took another sip. School had only been out a week but Paul missed having home room in science class. He had been a teacher's aide for the aging Gelder and was privy to several childhood memories, before and after school. The old man was even able to remember when the first stretch of highway was put in, disabling the commuter trains from Denver to Colorado City.

"Matthew. His name is Matthew." Kristy quietly corrected.

Paul paused and flashed her a questionable look. "Huh?"

Clearing her throat, Kristy sat back on the sofa, leaving a cushion space between them. "The 'dead guy.' His name is Matthew. And, he wasn't all that old. He was like 30 or something." Popping the tab on the can and taking a sip before she said too much, she averted her eyes in a nervous habit. She could feel it getting warm in the house and knew Matthew was silently standing nearby. "Uh, want to go for a walk, instead?" She stood back up and flashed a smile back at him as he agreed and stood, leading her to the front door.

"How do you know so much about him?" Paul asked as he stepped out, onto the porch.

Kristy stepped out and shut the door behind her, grabbing the key from the hook, beside the door, and locking it before turning around to answer. "Huh? Oh, my mom did some research after we found some old photos of him." They walked down the walkway and turned to the left to make their way up the street, not walking to any place in particular. "How many stories are there, about that house?"

"Alot." Paul admitted, under his breath. "And, what I said wasn't even the worst of it." Kicking a small rock off the sidewalk, he finished his soda and tossed it in an open trashcan that sat on the curb and then shoved his hands into his pockets. "Anyway, enough talk about some dead guy from the Dark Ages. There's an Eastwood marathon, in the park, next Saturday. Wanna go?" He smiled and turned to walk sideways, beside her, hoping she would say yes.

Kristy thought about agreeing to go but work tugged at the back of her mind and she bit her lip. "I don't know if I'm working, or not. I can let you know on Monday, though." Finishing her own can of soda as they walked a few more houses down, she tossed her can into the trashcan on the corner.

Paul nodded and turned to face forward, again. They had walked quite far from where she lived and were venturing into the small plaza of shops, made to look as they did in the early 1900s. Suddenly, he smiled as he spotted an ice cream parlour, a few stores down. "Hey, you wanna get some ice cream? I'll buy. Something I want to show you, too. C'mon." With a jerk of his head and a grin, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the shop before she could answer. 

As they waited in line, they talked about what flavours to get and how much. As they finally paid and made their way to a far corner booth, at the back of the parlour, to the right, Paul told her to slide around to the middle of the C-shaped booth and stop as he slid in to sit to her right. "Right there, in that spot, was where that Matthew guy sat. This was where his desk was, when it was a law office. The back office was where his bosses sat and," he pointed to the antique amber hanging lamp, in the middle of the room, "that was the original lamp he worked under."

"How do you know?" Kristy scooped a spoonful of strawberry ice cream.

Smiling again, Paul scooped a spoonful of his own chocolate mint and took a bite. "My oldest cousin's father in law worked for the company that bought them out and sold this place. They had all kinds of pictures and knick-knacks from way back when. I'll ask if he kept any, if you want 'em?"

Kristy grinned. "Okay."

They spent two hours talking about movies and music and urban folklore before Paul walked her back home. They stopped on the porch, in an awkward moment of silence before her mobile phone chirped announcing a new message, from her back pocket. Staring at each other, Paul leaned forward and came within two centimetres of kissing her when her phone chirped again.

A nervous smile as Kristy reached into her back right pocket and removed her phone. "I uh, I guess I should get inside."

Paul nodded. "I'll talk to you later?"

"Yea." Smiling, Kristy dug out her keys from her left front pocket and unlocked the door.

***********

It was a clear night with a half moon, star-lit sky. The smell of lilacs and citrus trees wafted over the air, making a pleasant aroma. A hushed yawn after she cleaned the dishes from their dinner that she had stopped and picked up, on the way home. Checking in on Kristy to find the teen listening to her rock music, with her headphones on, and avidly texting her Boulder friends about her afternoon with a "cute guy", Karen made her way back downstairs and into the kitchen, to open a bottle of wine she had bought to celebrate whatever came to mind. After dropping off Josh, at the designated meeting spot, she had rang up and gone to meet her sister, JoAnn, for lunch.

Karen had apprised her sister of the new life, in Denver, omitting the ghostly details; however, only mentioning that she and the children were involved in a mystery and were working "with the family" to solve it. Her sister only laughed and seemed intrigued and wanted to know how it all worked out, in the end. Karen only smiled and nodded. "Ended" had sounded so final and she knew she would hate to see Matthew Jenson and Tabitha Morris go but, she knew she had no right to keep them there, at all. 

Karen poured herself a glass of wine and made her way out front to sit on the low-rise white, wooden fence that surrounded the porch, her back against a tall white beam that was one of four that held up the awning. It had been a long day and between driving to and from Boulder and dealing with her ex and watching Josh pretend that Mark had never ventured to Denver, she was glad it was over with. Drawing her right knee to her chest while the other leg hung over the side. She sighed and balanced the glass on her left thigh, turning her head to look out at the street.

A shadow moved out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't bothered turning on the porch light and left only the foyer light to illuminate the porch, instead of turning on a light in the parlour. Turning her head, Karen jumped as Matthew sat down, on the railing, in front of her. "I thought you couldn't leave the house....?"

Matthew smiled shyly. "The end of the porch is where my freedom ends. Joshua arrived safely?"

"Yes." Karen smiled and sighed at the headache that was dissipating with every sip of wine. "He mentioned he apologised to you, for his rudeness." She stared at his face as the moonlight brightened the night's sky. "He said you two had a nice long talk, afterwards."

Nodding, Matthew blinked and glanced out at the empty and quiet street. "Yes. No one has ever asked me about myself, before. Angela, of course, but nothing too in depth." His expression changed from pleasant to sad as he said his wife's name. Catching her eye, again, he smiled. "You have wonderful children. You are lucky to have them."

Karen blushed at the complement. "Josh looks up to you. And Kristy can't get enough of Tabitha." Again, she caught the sadness in his expression as he gave a shy smile and looked away. "There was a time when I thought Mark was like you. Then, one day, I had to face reality." She sighed. Taking another sip of her Merlot, Karen's brow furrowed. "Which reminds me," with her free hand, she reached behind her, in the small space between where she sat and the post, and scooped up her mobile, "I know you won't know any of these people but, I thought I would show you this." Karen switched her position on the rail and placed the glass down, between them before concentrating on her mobile's photo album. She had made a special folder, for him and was eager to show him, when she had the opportunity. Touching on folder after folder and scrolling until she found the one she wanted, she touched on it and looked up to catch his look of concern. "This is your family. They are really nice. This is Eleanor, Roberta's great great granddaughter and her daughter, Laura. Eleanor has been here to fix up the house before I bought it but, Laura has a fascination with you." Holding the device so that she would look as if she were looking at it from the wide view, in case of a passer by glanced over at her. She pointed out the graying woman with light brown hair that resembled Roberta, everso slightly, and then her daughter, who bore a striking resemblance to Matthew, himself.

"A fascination...... with me?" Matthew stared at the photo of the two people posed sitting across from Karen, in a diner's booth, as they had lunch. He raised an eyebrow at the photo as he wasn't sure to be flattered or concerned at the knowledge.

Karen smiled and nodded. "Uh huh. She puts flowers on yours and your mother's graves, every year on your birthdays and holidays. She's quite the scholar on you." Karen eyed his amasement as he stared at the small lit screen and absently smiled to himself. "Roberta, Charles and Cassandra all spoke very highly of you. I can see how you must've captured their hearts."

Matthew looked up, after hearing her last statement. "They were like family, to me. Charlie never treated me like I was 'just a cousin' or an outsider. Roberta and I would play chess, by the window, in my uncle's study, every Sunday afternoon. She wanted to sit on my lap, when Uncle took us to see Buffalo Bill's circus." His smile faded as he recalled the not-so-fun times of his youth.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Karen felt his pain. "You must have felt so alone, those times, too." Pausing to replace her mobile behind her, she took a ragged breath. "I stopped by his house. It's a museum, now. Your room was so different from the others." She paused as he looked up, meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. I suppose I'm still getting used to talking to two ghosts." She groaned as she realised she had done it, again. "I'm sorry. I think there might be something in the wine, tonight." Karen smiled as she listened to his soft, throaty laugh. "You must have been someone very special, Matthew."

Matthew had stopped laughing and caught her eye. His expression had become unreadable as a wave of emotions played across his face. "Aunt Cassie told me those words, once." His mood changed sombre as he missed his long departed aunt and cousins. "My aunt would have liked you, Mrs. Eppley."

"Karen, please." A chill in the air as she rubbed her hand against her bare legs, in an effort to keep warm. It had been a nice day so, as soon as she came home from taking Josh to Boulder, she changed from jeans and t-shirt to a white tank top blouse and navy blue shorts.

Pausing a moment as if debating in his mind for him to be allowed to say her name, he breathed out. "Karen." Matthew smiled as he said her name. 

Karen took a moment to piece together her words, in her mind, before saying them out loud. "I would like for her to meet you." Clearing her throat, quietly, she clarified. "If that's alright with you?"

Matthew's soft smile replaced itself on his lips as he nodded. "I'd enjoy that, very much. However, not everyone sees ghosts, ma'am." He had hoped that his own family would see him and not be frightened of him, as his uncle had been. "It's late and you're starting to shiver. You should hurry inside before you catch chill. Thank you for showing me my.... family,..... Karen." He stood and bowed politely figuring it best to leave and let her finish her quiet evening, alone. 

"You don't have to leave. Unless, you can't stand my company?"

Matthew blushed. "Forgive me. I often think you can't stand mine."

Karen had started to say something but hushed herself as the look of guilt, on his face, caught her eye. "Oh, no." She shook her head and smiled, nervously. "Please, stay." 

Replacing himself on the railing, Matthew watched her sip her wine and swallow the mouthful. He watched her drink and tried to remember the taste of red wine or a dry pinot but his mouth wouldn't taste nor would his throat swallow. Once again, he found himself averting his eyes as she met his gaze.

"Can I ask..... what was she like? Your wife, I mean." Karen situated herself on the railing, balancing herself to sit cross-legged.

"Angie?" The expression drained from his face and he was silent for a long while. "She was a lot like you, in spirit. Long, soft brown hair and beautiful amber eyes. Beautiful face and body and a warm heart." He smiled to himself as he pictured Angela's face, welcoming him home from a long day and staying by his side when he was ill. Again came silence and he bowed his head, remembering the night he introduced her to his uncle and aunt. "My uncle felt she would take my money and leave me a pauper, before the vows. She never asked for one penny." He thought, brow furrowing and staring into the window, at the parlour, and seeing his own life before him. Oh, how I wanted to grow old with her."

Karen smiled at his simple statement and how he had become a fading breed of man. "I was told, she made you very happy. You must have loved her so much."

"Yes. When she took me to meet her parents, her mother wrapped her arms around me and kissed me. Her father, however, was very different. He wanted to know private details and schooling and what I could give to the family. My appearance was much different than when I died. That is to say, my hair was shorter and my uncle thought I would look more grown up, if I wore whiskers. Trimmed and waxed, of course. It wasn't long afterwards, I started feeling ill. Angie never faltered." He laughed to himself at his failed attempt at masculinity.

Karen smiled and giggled as she pictured him with short hair and a pointed, blond beard with curled mustache. "Well, the photo of you, the kids found, looked more like a rockstar, than someone from 100 years ago but, I think you look very handsome. Even if your hair is longer than it should be." Catching his eye as he glanced over at her, Karen winked and smiled.

Confusion played across his face as he hadn't understood the description until Karen clarified.

"I'm sure you've put up with the noise Kristy and Josh listen to, in their rooms....? That's considered 'rock and roll' music." Karen pantomimed her own intolerance to the sounds.

He nodded. "I see. It is more like noise than actual music. However, my uncle's phonograph must has sounded atrocious, also. There are some sounds I do, genuinely, enjoy. Most are pretty dull, today, I'm certain. But, it was quieter, back then." Glancing in Karen's direction again, he found her contently listening to him as though she had nothing more she wanted to do. "Forgive me, I would often rattle on. My uncle would forever be telling me to be quiet."

"I don't mind." Karen said, under her breath.

Matthew grinned casually. "I should think, if Angie were alive today......." For a moment, he had forgotten that he was dead and listened to himself speak those words that rolled off of his tongue, "I think she would be like you, Karen."

Karen's jaw dropped, her mouth dry, as he blinked coolly at her. Her voice no louder than a whisper. "Thank you."

"If only." Matthew gave a sad smile and stood up as she yawned. "You should come inside. It's late."

Nodding and finishing the last sip of wine, Karen looked up at him as he stood there, so angelic. "Why couldn't our times be different?"

Matthew didn't answer, only smiled. "It's late. Come inside." 

Karen yawned again and slipped herself off of the railing like melted honey. Tiredly, she blew him a kiss as she made her way past him and into the house, closing the door behind her.

"Thank you, Karen."

 

TBC.


	12. Chapter 12

30, April 1905

 

Angela lie in bed, clutching Matthew's pillow close and sobbing, intermittently. She hadn't moved from her room, in a week. Her tears had stained his pillow and streaked her cheeks and her eyes burned from lack of sleep and had been rubbed raw from wiping away endless tears. Her hair unbound and caping her trembling shoulders. "Forgive me, my love." Her whispers went unacknowledged as a frail hand stroked Matthew's empty pillow. 

A hushed knock on the door before it opened and Marie entered, quietly. "Ma'am, is there anything I could get for you, before I take my leave for the night?" She had tried for a week, after attending Matthew's funeral but found the young woman inconsolable. Marie stopped just inside the door and stood with her hands together, in front of her, waiting. She started forward, after a moment of listening to Angela's heartbroken sobs. "Mrs..... Jenson....? Is there anything I can get you, dear?"

Draped across the bed, Angela lie on her left side with her arms around Matthew's pillow still, gasping for breath as she cried. She had ripped the covers and linens off, nights ago, in a fit of rage and cursing Matthew's memory for him not being there for her. Her bedclothes were replaced with one of Matthew's shirts that she constantly sniffed at the collar for his scent and clutched at the buttons for his closeness. Through bouts of restlessness and exhaustion, her sleep had been plagued with terrible dreams and realisms that lasted into the waking hours. Hearing footsteps approach, Angela sat up and wiped her eyes as Marie came to sit down beside her, on the bed. "Oh Marie! I've done something so terrible. I left him alone, when he needed me. I've murdered my precious Matthew." Throwing her arms around her and hugging her tight, Angela cried into the older woman's shoulder.

Marie hushed her sobbing and reached up to soothe the distraught Angela. "No, my dear. You haven't done any harm to Mister Matthew. Hush now, child. Rest yourself." Her calm voice quelled the sobs and soothed the fears as they rocked slowly back and forth. "Come. I'll run you a bath and make up your bed. After a hot bath and some warm milk, you might rest. Mrs. Cassandra will be here, in the morning. Mister Matthew would want his bride to be presentable."

Angela pulled away and took a deep breath before nodding and letting the maid escort her down the hall, to the washroom and run a bath. She sat amidst the bubbles and hot water, letting the elder woman scrub her body and wash her hair before drying her and dressing her in clean bedclothes. Angela closed her eyes and moaned, softly, into the tender hands as Marie combed and braided her long hair for her. She was led to the door of their bedroom and stood there, docile and exhausted. 

"I'll fetch some clean linens and make your bed, ma'am, then bring you some warm milk so you can rest." Marie guided the numb woman over to sit on the small, blue settee before turning and hurrying over to the linen closet, across the hall, for fresh linens. When she returned, she found Angela staring down, at the blue material of the seat, absently rubbing her hand against the golden pattern.

Angela's voice was strained and calm as she spoke. "This was his favourite piece. He held my hand and made love to me, right here." She sighed, too tired to cry or scream or even move. "I've said terrible things to him, Marie. Called him such horrible names and slapped him so hard. He needed me and I was a monster to him. I don't deserve his forgiveness, Marie." Panting softly, she felt the tears well up and her eyes started to sting from the moisture.

Shaking her head, Marie walked over and sat down beside her. "No, ma'am. He loved you, with all his heart. He's forgiven you, ma'am. Now, you must forgive yourself." Patting Angela's hand that rest in her lap, Marie excused herself to finish what she had set out to do before tucking Angela into bed and hurrying downstairs to fetch a glass of warmed milk. With the glass in one hand and her skirt, gathered up, in the other, Marie made her way back upstairs and rounded the corner, into the room, to find Angela sitting up, back against the headboard, the candle on Matthew's bedside table illuminating the space. With a sigh, she made her way over to Angela's bedside and handed her the glass as she sat down, on the side of the bed. "Drink up, dear. Some nice rest will do you well. And in the morning, I'll fix you some eggs and toast." A small smile as she watched Angela sip the liquid. "That's a girl. Now, come on, lie down and I'll tuck you in." Marie helped her to lie down and tucked her in, pausing a moment as Angela rolled onto her side and clutched Matthew's pillow, again. "Rest, ma'am. Everything will be alright, in the morning."

**********

Cassandra walked up the cobblestone walk to the porchsteps and paused, taking a breath. Continuing up the steps and knocking on the door, she waited only a moment before the door opened and Marie stepped back to receive her into the entryway. "Marie, some tea, please." Slipping the wrap from her shoulders and handing it to Marie to hang up, she stood in the doorway and sighed.

"Yes, ma'am." Marie curtsied and made her way back to the kitchen, after hanging the black fur wrap on the hook.

Removing the hatpins from her mourning bonnet and heavy black veil before removing the bonnet, itself, as she stood in the entryway of the house. A ragged breath as she half-expected to see her nephew come around the corner of the parlour and smile as he invited her inside. She stood there a good, long while and stared into the foyer. "How are you, dear?" Cassandra looked to the top of the stairs and smiled as Angela made her way numbly down the steps. "Angela, darling, you look a fright. Come, I will have Marie bring you some tea and toast." She had caught the maid's eye as Marie dried her hands on a towel and peered out of the kitchen doorway. Stepping into the foyer and over to the bottom of the stairs to receive the young woman and escort her into the Conservatory, to sit. 

The Conservatory was a room Angela spent most of her time in. Plush, elegant sofas spread out so that one had been one each end of the room and the most fancy sofa with a high, rounded back and royal purple velvet had been placed in the middle of the room, a small oval shaped, glass table placed in front of it. Sitting down on the middle sofa, Angela covered a yawn and looked up to see who was tending to her. Her eyes burned from crying and her voice was sore from curses she screamed into the pillow. "Thank you, Cassandra." Her dress was in place and her hair brushed and put up in a braided bun. Her make up had been missing as she hadn't felt comfortable making herself up and dealing with an empty house.

Cassandra sat down beside her and placed a gentle arm around Angela's shoulders. "It's alright, dear. We all miss him." The two women sat together in silence for a long while before Marie brought in a tray of morning tea and was asked to bring some toast and biscuits. Serving the young woman, Cassandra placed her own cup on her lap and stared up, at the ceiling, a small smile on her lips. "He was so happy when he married you, dear. Now," Taking a sip, she closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer, to herself, that Matthew found peace, "after breakfast, we'll sit and talk. I understand your feelings of privacy, in this time, however, it isn't healthy for you to be alone, too long."

"I loved him, Cassandra." Angela replaced her tea cup on the saucer and then set them both back down, on the table, as her hands trembled.

Cassandra smiled softly and listened patiently. "I know, dear. He loved you, too." As if hearing something, she looked from her cup to the doorway. She sipped at her tea as she found nothing making noise or movement. "Tell me, dear, what are your plans?"

Angela sighed. "I have nothing, anymore."

Placing her cup and saucer on the table, Cassandra turned and took Angela's trembling hands in her own, calming the trembles. "Angela, you and I both know this was not his doing. He would be here with you, if he had the chance." She paused again as a coolness touched her cheek and the feeling of an embrace, surrounded her. Moving a hand to wipe at Angela's damp cheeks, she met eyes with the younger woman. "He is still here, with us, my dear."

Only nodding, Angela excused herself to go upstairs and freshen up, before returning to Cassandra and tea.

Marie carried in a tray of toast, milk, jam and biscuits and placed it next to the tea pot. "Shall I refresh your tea, ma'am?" She asked as she stood up and waited for new instruction.

"Yes, Marie. Thank you." She paused. "Marie...?" Waiting for the maid to turn back around before continuing, Cassandra stood and stepped around the table and held Marie's hand. "Thank you for taking care of our Matthew, all these years. My home has a place for you, always."

Marie smiled sadly. "Thank you, ma'am. He was a blessed soul."

Patting Marie's hand and letting her get back to her duties, Cassandra glanced up at the ceiling and listened. After a minute of hearing nothing, she made her way upstairs to find Angela sitting on Matthew's side of the bed and staring at Matthew's photo. "Angela? Are you alright, dear?"

Angela smiled and nodded, still staring at the photo of her late husband. "I'm fine." Taking a breath, she looked up at the woman standing in the doorway. "I've been visiting with my husband." Her smile widened as she turned back to look at his photo. "He took this a week ago." Holding the unframed photo in her lap, she wiped a tear from her right eye as Cassandra walked over to sit beside her, on the bed. "He loved that waistcoat. That deep blue matched his eyes and the material was so soft and warm. He told me it was a gift, for his birthday, a few years ago. He wanted a photograph but never got around to it. So he showed me what to do and told me to press the contraption button. We made an entire collection of photographs. He knew something was wrong, Cassandra. Something important. Now, I'll never know what he knew." Angela held the photo close to her chest. "This was the day he was gone from me. Just that morning, we stayed in bed and he whispered our anniversary, in my ear." Her fingertips brushed her left ear, hearing his voice whisper through rhythmic pants of lovemaking. "I should have asked for him to join me. But, I didn't want him to miss his first new day at work."

Cassandra listened and smiled sweetly at her niece-in-law. "Come now, child. You couldn't have known."

"I came upstairs to wash my face but, this caught my eye, from my vanity." Shaking her head, she sniffled. "I didn't put it there. I had Marie place it in the Parlour, this morning. When I went to it and sat down, here, I heard him; my Matthew." Her right hand went to her cheek as the coolness came back, touching a small spot. "I'll be alright, Aunt Cassie."

Cassandra's eyes filled with tears. "I know you will, my love. Get some rest. I will stop by, later on, to see how you are doing." Tenderly, she removed Angela's shoes and helped the woman to lie down, on Matthew's side, before covering her up with a knit afghan blanket, from the end of the bed, soothing her hair and patting her arm as Angela's eyes slid closed with a smile. Cassandra watched Angela sleep for a long while, sitting next to her, on the bed, as she made sure the woman was asleep, before leaving the room and making her way back down the stairs. "Marie, Angela is sleeping. Would you keep watch over her, until I return, later this evening?" Cassandra came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yes, ma'am." Marie curtsied. 

Cassandra turned her head to stare at the empty chair, in the parlour, and with a sigh, made her way into the room. She walked over to the desk and stood next to it, staring at the contents on the desktop. She stared at the few business papers that Matthew had brought in and was looking at, before he died. After listening to the exchange of Matthew and Elmore and then Matthew and Charles, she became interested in Matthew's previous employers. Cassandra read a few lines of a case that Matthew had been working on and furrowed her brow. "Would you also fetch me Matthew's photograph contraption and any slides you find that need developing? I have a special project to work on. Oh yes, his briefcase, as well." 

Marie curtsied and hastily left for the basement.

Making her way back to the entryway, Cassandra bundled up, in her wrap as she waited for the maid to bring the items in a small satchel. When Marie returned, she thanked her and turned to leave. "Marie, has Matthew paid you, yet?"

"No, ma'am." 

Cassandra spoke with her back to the woman, awaiting Marie to open the door. "I shall bring your check to you, tonight."

Marie's brow furrowed. "Am I being dismissed, ma'am?" The woman of 50 began to think of what to do next. There was no possible way she was able to retire but she was definitely feeling her age, with recent events. She and her husband had worked for the Jensons for years before Marie took the job of serving under Matthew. 

Cassandra sighed and turned to smile back at the woman. "No, Marie, I would like you to stay on a little longer and help me with my project. I'll explain later." She stared at the briefcase in her hand and then the satchel with the camera and slides, in the other. She left, leaving Marie to wonder what Cassandra was up to.

*********

The boxes of antiques quickly piled up, around Karen's desk and she worked steadily to correctly categorise them and then price them. A table lamp from the 60s, with a round, green-glassed base with gold trimmings and a newer white lamp shade sat on the far left of her desk. She sighed as she stared through a large magnifying glass that was held above the desk by a steel arm, clamped to the side of the desk, that stiffly moved to where she had wanted to look. She stared at the underside of the twin to the lamp on the corner of her desk and noted the indications to a replaced cord and updated workings. Her small, cramped office had been made even smaller by the invasion of an estate sale, brought in a few days prior, and was slowly being sorted and diminished.

With another sigh, Karen sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, momentarily, while pinching the bridge of her nose and trying to dispel her oncoming headache. She had been staring at the items for two hours and had even worked through her lunch, to get the items priced. Giving herself a small nap and breathing deeply, she hadn't heard her door open and Julia step in, holding a white file box full of more antiques. She had started the morning off with her hair pulled back, into a ponytail but as the day wore on, and the headache grew, she had eventually pulled it loose and wrapped the light blue band around her left wrist.

"Working hard, I see." Julia offered a smile as she placed the box down, on the chair, across from Karen.

Opening her eyes and sitting up, Karen smiled and shook her head. "I was just taking a break from staring at these lamps. My eyes are getting tired and I guess I need some lunch." Rubbing her eyes and blinking a few times to clear the cloudiness, Karen glanced at the box on the chair and then back up to Julia. "What's this?" Standing up and making her way around her desk to the box, Karen removed the lid and peered inside. "Trinkets, hm, doorknobs, buttons..... some seem pretty old. Who brought them in?"

Julia giggled. "You didn't see the label, did you?" Julia picked up the lid and tapped at the return address on the top left corner of the label. "I thought you'd find this interesting."

"Virginia City?"

Nodding, Julia sighed and sat down in the chair, next to the one the box sat in. "Our sister store, in Reno, shipped it here when they had no room for them. I thought you might take an interest to some of the items, in the box, considering most of them came from the 'older parts' of Virginia City." Glancing into the box, herself, Julia rummaged through and picked up a few old graying photos and showed them to Karen. "I don't know for sure but, these were around the 1870s. The working ladies back then didn't exactly like their picture taken but, there's a few of them." Julia placed the few photos in Karen's hands as she stood up, after hearig the door chime sound, letting her know she had customers. As she reached the doorway, she stopped and turned. "Oh, by the way, there was an older gentleman in here, yesterday. He asked about your house. Don't tell me, you're selling it?"

Karen straightened from her bent over position and gave a confused look to Julia. "Asked about my house?"

"Uh huh. He had a copy of Margaret's obituary and asked about the house on 7th Avenue. Didn't leave his name or number but said he'd check back, in a few days." Julia shrugged and gave a quick glance out, to the customers, browsing through some old books, near the front window.

Karen hmmed. "What did he want? Did he say?"

Julia turned back to Karen and took a breath, keeping her voice low. "He wondered if anything from Matthew Jenson's estate had been brought in." She paused and turned to face Karen. "Karen, I didn't give him your name or any information, as I don't think he's local but, I told him I knew a friend of the family and would ask." Patting Karen's left shoulder, she smiled and went to greet the customers.

"Thank you, Julia." Karen's brow furrowed as she thought of what the man could have wanted. Her stomach growled and demanded food. Placing the photos back into the box and closing the lid, she turned off the light, on the magnifier, and grabbed her purse out of her bottom desk drawer and headed for lunch, closing and locking her office as she left. "Julia, I have a errand to run and then I'm going to get something to eat. Can I pick you up some lunch?"

Julia smiled as she stood behind the register, finishing up ringing up the customers that had just walked out with their old novels of westerns, they had picked out. "Oh, no thank you, dear. I'm fine. My son should be in, in a little while with something for me. You go right ahead and have your lunch." She waved and scooped up an armful of vintage tablecloths, for a window display.

With her stomach growling again, Karen smiled and headed over to the door. "When did that gentleman say he would come back?"

Julia paused at the end of the countre. "That was two days ago that he was here so, about Thursday. I would say." Continuing on to the window, she paused again and turned back to Karen. "Honey, if you want, I could have Eleanor or Laura deal with him?" Julia could see the uncertain look in Karen's eyes and worried about her friend.

"No, no. It's fine, really. I was going to go speak to Laura, on another matter, so I suppose I could bring it up to her. I just wondered." Karen placed her hand on the door rail and opened the door slightly.

"Well, don't worry yourself, hon. I'm sure it's nothing really. Margaret had a lot of friends from all over the place. He might have heard late or something. Although, it is odd for him to inquire about your house, instead of Margaret's estate." Julia rubbed her bottom lip with her left index finger as she thought. "Oh well. Have a good lunch, Karen!" She called as Karen waved and walked outside.

 

TBC.


	13. Chapter 13

The bell on the shoppe door chimed as the door opened, letting the gentleman enter and chimed again, as it closed behind him. He meandred through a display of late 1890's small dressers and bedtables, opening drawers and looking inside, running his hands under the overhangs and underneaths of each item. He had tried to remain discreet but eventually caught the attention of Karen, as she stood on the other side of the room, sifting and sorting and pricing vintage doorknobs.

Karen finished her pricing of a set of four crystal knobs and put down the pricing gun, walking over to where the man now stood, admiring the small, cherrywood end table with two bowed drawers and a gently worn top. "Is there something I can help you find?" Offering a smile, Karen waited for the man to straighten from his kneeling position next to a late 19th Century jewelry cabinet and turn around to see who was speaking to him.

"Yes. My name is Dalton Kent. My employer has sent me on a task, of sorts, to find a certain piece of familial history that seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle." The man smiled. His gray suit and clean shaven face seemed to stand out and offer very little to the identity of his employer. He was shorter than Karen but carried himself as someone much taller. Short black hair that was graying on the sides and sideswept bangs fit his rounded face and carmel-coloured eyes. A face that looked so familiar but nonplacable to Karen.

Nodding and looking over the small, cluttered section they were standing in, Karen took a breath. "Alright. Perhaps, I can help. What seems to have been misplaced?"

Clearing his throat, his voice evened as he listed the items. "It's hard to say. My employer is looking for several items, actually but he specifically wishes to find an oak desk. I believe it would have been from the late 1890s, possibly 1895, to be exact? A small desk with curved drawers and it's sister piece, a smaller roll-top desk with three drawers, on its right side." Seeing question in Karen's eyes, he looked around the shoppe, hopeful to find one or the other, hiding in plain sight.

Karen shook her head and sighed. "No, I'm sorry. We haven't had any pieces that match those descriptions come in. Was something lost inside them or did he have a change of heart?" 

Dalton turned back to her and nodded briefly. "Yes, a change of heart. The pieces belonged to an old family friend, who recently passed. My employer has always admired those pieces and wondered what became of them." A glint in his eyes concealed his intentions. The corners of his thin mouth curved upward, giving an eerie smile as they met eyes, once more. His well-groomed exteriour with subtle hints of eastern accent gave the presentation of a well-financed occupation. 

"Well, we receive new items all the time. But I can certainly keep my eye out for those pieces. Was there a name I could call on, if I found them? Or, would the name of the family be more accessible?" Karen turned to walk back to the desk for some paper and a pen to write the name of reference. It was a hot day and the air conditioning unit seemed inexperienced to deal with the rising temperature. A small table fan worked tirelessly to cool the desk area while its countreparts, stationed at each corner of the shoppe, oscillated a cool breeze to the store. Grabbing a flower-topped pen and a post-it notepad, Karen started writing down the items.

Dalton smiled again and followed her to the desk, coming to a stop at the end, next to a display of business cards of various businesses, close by. "My employer wishes to be kept confidential. However, he has sent me in search of items from the Margaret Davenport estate. He heard she was selling the house on 7th Avenue and wanted to make an offer but, sadly, it seems I am too late. It appears to have been sold, already."

Pausing in her writing to look back up at him, her breath caught. "Yes, it's been sold for almost two months, now. Did he know the Davenport's well?"

"The Jenson's, to be more specific." Checking his watch on his right wrist, he grimaced at the time. "I'm terribly sorry to have taken up so much of your time. I must be going. I will check back in a few days." Nodding, again, he grinned curtly and made his way to the door, turning to the right and walking to a parking garage, down the street from them.

Karen watched as the man disappeared into traffic and the bustle of midday rush.

*********

Paul had been true to his word and had managed to get ahold of the photos from his cousin's scrapbook. There had been one small problem in acquiring them. His cousin had wondered why Paul had asked for them and then wanted sincere proof they would be alright. Paul's cousin took pride in his work and adored his scrapbooks, archiving the destruction of the oldest shops, houses and buildings that hadn't managed to be saved by landmarking. Paul drove his older brother's 1976 orange VW Bug up to the walk corner and shut off the engine. Checking his hair, in the rearview mirror, he grabbed the hefty book from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car, making his way up to the front porch.

Karen sat down on the sofa and sipped her coffee. The morning newspaper lay on the table, in front of her and she picked it up and read the headline. Bringing the cup up to her lips, again, she heard knocking on he door. Putting the cup and paper down, on the table, she stood up and made her way over to the door, from the parlour. For a summer Sunday afternoon, she was dressed in her comfy old sweatpants and Relaxaholic T-shirt. Karen sighed as she opened the door and stared at the young man with a quizzical look. "Hello. Can I help you?" She smiled, waiting for Paul to introduce himself.

"Oh, uh, I'm Paul Hardy. I know Kristy from school." He paused and waited for the recognition on Karen's face to be voiced.

Karen breathed a sigh of relief as she had hoped he hadn't been selling something she didn't need. "Oh, of course. She mentioned you a few times. From her Science class, right?"

Paul nodded. "Yea. Anyway, she asked to borrow my cousin's father-in-law's scrapbook. The one that archived the buyout and transition of the old law firm on 15th Avenue." Holding the book up for her to see, he glanced at her curious expression. "Is she here?"

"She is but, she is not feeling well. It's been making the run of the house." Karen tilted her head, in question. "What law firm, on 15th?"

Smiling, Paul opened the front cover and exposed the block lettering of the bold headline; "DEACON AND WHITE LAW FIRM CLOSES AMIDST SCANDAL!" Turning the book around so that she could read the 35-year-old paper. "Deacon and White. My cousin was on the contracting crew that bought and sold it and eventually turned it into an ice cream parlour. She wanted to see the place where the Matthew guy worked, before he died."

Karen's eyes widened. "Oh. I'm sorry you had to bring it all this way when she isn't feeling well. She should feel well enough for company, this weekend. If you can stop back by?" Eyeing the article once more, she studied the picture that had accompanied the article. She knew the ice cream parlour but hadn't guessed it was where Matthew had worked, when he was alive.

"Actually, I'm going out of town, tomorrow and won't be back for a week or so. But, if she promises to take very good care of it, I guess I can leave it here. My cousin's very OCD, ya know?" Paul closed the book and offered it to Karen, with a shrug. "He won't mind she has it but, please be careful with it." Blinking up at Karen, he smiled as his cell phone beeped a text message notification, from his right back pocket. "Um, I have to go." Handing the book to Karen, who accepted it, graciously, he smiled and turned to head back to his car. "I hope she feels better."

"Thank you! I'll let her know. Have a safe trip." Karen smiled and waved as she watched him get into his car and start the engine before driving off. She closed the door and stared at the brown cover of the old scrapbook, debating to herself on looking through it. The curiosity was almost overwhelming as she made her way back to the sofa, where her cooled coffee and newspaper still sat on the table.

Matthew stood behind her, watching as Karen sat down, slowly, staring intently at the large, thick book in her hands. "Are you alright, Mrs. Eppley?" He blinked as she jumped and spun around to look at him. "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." A warm smile and a calm voice helped to ease the woman and gather her thoughts. "Are you alright?"

Sighing and nodding, Karen smiled. "Yes, I'm just fine, Matthew. Thank you. A boy from Kristy's school dropped this off, for her." She showed him the book as he came around to sit down, a foot away from her, on the sofa. "His cousin kept a scrapbook of your old workplace. It's an ice cream shoppe, now." She watched Matthew's expression as he glanced at the book with mixed feelings. She bit her lip before continuing, waiting to see how he would react.

Matthew smiled. "I wondered what had happened to them. I'm sorry it took so long."

"What do you mean, 'took so long'? Did this start when you were alive?" Karen was hoping for a break in the puzzle. At this point, she was hoping for anything to give her an idea of why he died. She studied his expression carefully before moving a hand to the cover of the book and carefully lifting it.

"My cousin was going to help me get out of it. He was the only one who believed me. My uncle seemed short-tempered when I told him how dissatisfied I was to be working there. He was furious for some reason and wouldn't let me explain. My cousin, Charles, worked at an opposing firm, on the other side of town. He knew what they were up to. I'm surprised they didn't go after him and his family, also." Matthew stared intently on the headline that was now exposed, as the book lie open on the coffee table.

Karen's brow furrowed. "What did you do for them, exactly? How did you know something was wrong?" Absently, she picked up her cup of coffee and sipped at the cold liquid, making her blanch at the bitter taste.

Matthew sighed. "I took care of payroll and payouts to clients as well as investments into other companies we handled. My uncle told me I would make a better bookkeeper than a doctor, anyway." Pausing and bowing his head at the negative statement, Matthew leaned forward and skimmed the article on the page. It was a full page cutout that had been clipped and pasted onto the page with hand written instructions for more on the adjacent page, at the bottom. "Edward's grandson and great grandson indicted for..... mob connections.....?" Matthew suddenly seemed far away, remembering something but his memory had refused to cooperate. Shaking his head and sighing, he felt angry with himself for not being able to remember the important lynchpin. "It took me a year to piece it all together but, by the time I was to give it to Charlie, I died."

"Do you think you were killed for knowing about... whatever it was?" Karen's fingers played with the bottom corner of the page, eager to find what happened. 

Matthew shook his head. "I don't know. I've spent so much time and effort trying to get someone to see me that I can't remember what happened, exactly. It's all so fuzzy, the longer I wait. I remember talking to Charlie, the night before. He knew something was wrong and told me to clean out my desk, immediately. I kept a file folder, in my desk, in a locked drawer." 

Kristy took the stairs one by one, doing her best not to fall forward and fall down them. Pink shorts, a long-sleeved pink and white Betty Boop shirt and fuzzy slippers were her designated "sick clothes" of choice. "Who was at the door?" Kristy came around the corner, scratching her head and yawning. She paused as she saw Matthew sitting next to her mom, on the sofa and then turn and stand up when he saw Kristy enter the room. The embarrassed look on his face as he quickly averted his eyes, after seeing what she was wearing, made her look down and raise an eyebrow at her nightclothes. "Uh, it's just my pyjamas."

"Forgive me. It's a personal issue." Matthew turned his head away to collect himself and remember that this was not the 19th century, anymore.

Karen looked up at him. "Memories?" Her voice was soft and noninvasive.

Turning to look back at the woman, still sitting on the sofa, he blinked calmly at her. "Nightmares."

Realising he was talking about his childhood surroundings, in the brothel, Kristy felt a little ashamed and made her way over to the coathooks, in the entryway and slipped on her mother's tan trenchcoat, wrapping it around her and using the belt to hold it in place before making her way back into the parlour and sitting down on the adjacent sofa. "Better?"

Matthew nodded and sat back down.

"What's this?" Kristy nodded to the open book and leaned forward to read the headline. Her brow furrowed as through her haze of sleep and medication, she tried to grasp what was going on around her.

Karen turned her attention back to the book. "Oh, your friend, Paul, brought this for you. He said you wanted to look at it. He's going out of town for awhile so, he said you can borrow it. However, you need to be extra.."

"Careful." Both Karen and Kristy finished the sentence together. "I know. His cousin or uncle or someone is like massively nuts about his stuff." Shifting on the seat, she glanced over at Matthew, who sat next to Karen so calmly, and cleared her throat. "So, what'd you find?"

Karen turned the page and paused as another headline jumped out at them, this time it was for five years prior to the previous headline on the front page. "LANDMARK LAW FIRM EMBROILED IN CONTROVERSY!" Karen shifted on the cushion and squinted her eyes to read the caption, as she hadn't bothered to put on her glasses. "This says it was an on-going, undercover investigation since 1973, when 'the Matthew Jenson House became a part of the Elmore Jenson Estate Museum, on loan to the City of Denver.' It looks like Margaret and her uncle, Charles, found something to prove their assumptions against your suicide, Matthew. 'Charles Jenson died in 1970, at the age of 93, but filed a wrongful death lawsuit against his late cousin's firm, in 1964.' And the case is still open." She sat back and thought for a long moment. "Are you sure you don't know what you did with your things from the office?"

"I didn't have much at the office. A photo of Angie, some personal files and a ledger. I just get things in pieces. Sorry." Matthew seemed dissatisfied with himself for not remembering something important. He smiled a sad smile to himself. Staring at the headline on the page, in Karen's lap, he gave a relieved sigh. "My best friend, Charlie. I knew he wouldn't let me down."

"Alright. You had to have a box, right? Too much stuff to fit in your pockets? What did ya do with the box? If it's still here, somewhere, maybe we can look for it. Most of your things are upstairs, still. What's missing?" Kristy sniffled and reached for the box of kleenex that sat on the end table, between the two sofas. She paused and held the tissue to her nose as she and Matthew stared at one another in thought. "What?"

"My desk. My desk is what's missing. My desk, my chair and the downstairs furniture. When my cousin and his family lived here, for a few short years, he wouldn't part with my things. He and his brother Nicholas moved the upstairs furniture to the attic and my downstairs furniture to...." Matthew shook his head. "I don't know. They loaded it into a truck and I watched it pull away, heading towards town." Pointing to the fireplace, for direction, he glanced at both of their faces and hoped they had better luck with whatever they had uncovered, outside of the house.

Staring at the fireplace, Karen's brow furrowed. "What did your desk look like? Big, small, light, dark?"

Matthew sighed and stood up, closing his eyes and trying to remember what his own house looked like. Pointing in the direction of the fireplace, he named off where things had been placed. "I had a high-backed oak chair with rounded arms, placed here and," he turned around and faced the parlour entryway, "a heavy, polished oak desk, the sat in front of the fireplace. Tall mahogany bookshelves along the wall and a large red area rug, from my mother's room, on the floor." He paused and turned his head to stare at the wall, behind Kristy, where his bookshelves once sat. "The bookshelves. They had a matching wardrobe that was upstairs, in my bedroom." His gaze fell on Karen as she stood up and opened her mouth as if to say something.

"The rug, the chair and the wardrobe are all in your room, at Elmore's estate. Maybe your desk is too?"

Saying nothing, Matthew only stared at Karen with a hopeful look.

***********

The 1995 emerald Toyota Corsica pulled up to the house and stopped in front. Laura took a deep breath and opened the driver's side door, stepping out and then shutting it, again. She stared up at the Victorian house that had captured her heart since the fourth grade. Laura noticed the flowers and the perfectly manicured lawn and brick walkway, leading up to the house. She smiled as she saw the curtains in the parlour move and then Karen opening the door. She started up the walk, meeting Karen halfway. "Hi! I love what you've done with the outside. It looks just like the pictures!" She smiled.

Karen beamed and greeted the young woman with a hug. "It's been a labour of love." Turning and pointing out the similarities and "close-enoughs" to Laura, they walked back to the front porch and stopped in front of the door. 

Laura smiled. "I'm sure Matt would love it!" 

As Karen opened the door and stepped aside for her guest to enter first, she watched Laura's expression light up with joy as they entered into the foyer. "I thought it would be nice to have you and your mom come for supper and chat. I'd love to show you what we've been doing with the place." Showing her into the parlour, they sat down on the sofa and chatted.

"Thank you, yes. Mom sends her apologies and asks if supper can be postponed for a few nights. Her gallery has a big production and it's taking a lot of her time. But, I couldn't pass up coming. I hope you don't mind." Laura smiled and glanced over at the tall fireplace mantle. "I have always loved this fireplace. So majestic." Standing and making her way over to the fireplace, she ran her hand along the mantle and smiling admirably. Inhaling and closing her eyes, she tried to picture herself in the same room 100 years prior. "I remember being 10 years old and standing right here, staring at this same mantle, and thinking what it must have been like. It's strange but, this very spot has a feeling that I just can describe. I don't know why but, I just know this was Matt's favourite room, for some reason." Pulling her long braid over her left shoulder, she toyed with the medium hairclip that clasped the end together. The clip looked very old but had held up through the years very elegantly. It was a metal clip of a sunflower with two silver leaves on either side, and painted bright yellow petals around an amber centre.

Karen rubbed her forehead, thinking of a way to tell Laura about her ulterior motive for her invite. "Sure. I understand. Absolutely, we can do it another time. I did want to ask about something that came to my attention, at work, a few days ago. My boss, Julia, told me a man by the name of Dalton Kent came into the shoppe and asked about Matthew's estate. She said he had just heard about your grandmother's passing and wanted to know if any of his things had been given to the shoppe. Has he found you or your mom, yet?" She bit her lip as Laura turned to stare at her in confusion.

"No, no one's come to my door. Mom is so busy with her gallery and the Elmore house that I don't think she even sleeps anymore. I can ask her if she's had a run in." She thought for a minute. "Did he say what he wanted and why he was wanting to see Matt's things?"

Karen shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "No. But he said he'd be back. Julia didn't tell him anything about you or me or your mom. I trust her not to invade privacy like that."

"Good." Laura gave a relieved smile. "Grandma and Julia were old friends. She even spent a lot of time with Betsy Maitland, growing up." Still toying with her hairclip, she noticed Karen looking at it and smiled. "This was a gift from Roberta to grandma a long time ago. Roberta kept it in her jewelry box Matt gave her, when he went to Boston, on honeymoon with Angela. Grandma gave it to mom, on her wedding night and she gave it to me on mine. Grandma said Roberta always loved sunflowers."

Smiling, Karen stood up and made her way over to where Laura still stood. "It's beautiful. May I?" She held the clip and braid, in her right palm and examined it more closely. "It's held up remarkably, for as old as it is. Heavy, too." They both giggled at the acknowledgement. "Well, we didn't bring much of his things down, from the attic, but I did clean it up and tried to give it a 'nostalgia' all it's own. Would you like to see it?" She had hoped she didn't scare off the young woman but, instead hoped Laura would understand and appreciate Karen's small homage to the late Matthew Jenson.

"I'd like that."

Karen lead her up the stairs and paused at the master bedroom. "I had the settee cleaned and restuffed. For its age, it was in remarkable condition. Some of the stitching was frayed, on the back but Julia's son, Jeffrey, was able to find a seamstress that does restorations."

Laura's eyes widened and her jaw dropped in awe of the piece of simple yet elegant furniture before her. "Oh, Karen. It's gorgeous!" Kneeling in front of it, traced the golden swirls over one part of the seat. A shiver ran down her back and she inhaled, imagining her ancestor and his bride, sitting on the seat and holding hands. "It looks brand new. Grandma used to tell me so many stories about her mom and Caitlyn, playing dress up and going to tea parties, around this bench. I've never felt so close to my family, as I do right now." Catching her breath as she fought back the tears of happiness, she took a moment to contain herself before turning around and smiling back at her hostess. "I knew you were perfect for this house. It was something about your application that just send shivers up and down our spines."

"You'll love what we've done for the attic." Kare blushed, feeling a sense of pride and acceptance.

Catching her breath, Laura took a step and then paused once again. "Okay. I think I'm ready to see the attic, now."

"Are you sure?" Karen asked with a grin.

Laughing and nodding, Laura caught her breath. "Yes."

"Okay." Making their way out of the bedroom, Karen lead her down the hall and through the doorway, leading up to the attic, pausing at the closed attic door and turning around. "Kris and I tried to make it as inviting as possible and, I hope, it is. This is an old house and even older history and the last thing I want to do is cause another family's heartache." A shiver passed through her as she opened the door and reached in, brushing her hand against the lightswitch. Flicking it on and stepping out of the way, she gave a quick look around to make sure the few displays had proper lighting. It had been Kristy's idea to use white Christmas lights, for effect, instead of the bright lightbulb that swung from the single light fixture. Karen had loved the idea and helped string up lights, around the middle beam, letting the tiny dim lights light up the whole room.

Laura felt her heart pound in her chest as the years of stories and emotions over family members she never had the chance to meet, flooded her. Tears welled up as the door opened wider, revealing an illuminated micro-museum that spread itself throughout the entire floorplan of the attic. Taking the last few steps up and into the attic itself, Laura panned the room, from left to right, as she crossed the threshold. To her immediate left were the tall bookcases, on either side of the window, adorned with several books Karen found in some old boxes, on the other side of the room. In front of her, against the far wall, was Matthew and Angela's bed, set up and made with a plain brown, handmade comforter Karen found tucked away in the wooden chest, next to the steamer trunk. On either side, she turned onto their sides some wooden crates and placed antique doilies on the tops, for nightstands. Laura's eye caught sight of the photo of Matthew, in his waistcoat. Making her way over to it, Laura picked it up and took a ragged breath. She stared at the vintage frame, admiring how fitting it was Her mouth opened to speak but no words would sound. After another breath, she was able to sat what was on her mind. "This is the photo you showed me?"

Karen nodded as their eyes met. She stood next to the steamer trunk, that was next to the bed, and watched the delight in Laura's eyes as the young woman stared back down at the photo of Matthew.

"I was only two when Caitlyn passed. Grandma always told me, she looked right at me, when I was born and told me it was like starin' back into the eyes of an old friend."

Karen smiled and glanced down at the photo. "We haven't found any photos of he and Angela, here, so I thought it fitting to set that one by the bed. You do look alot like him."

Laura blushed and replaced the photo on the table. "I guess that was the reason I fell so in love with everything about him. Apart of me misses him, so badly, but I never knew him at all." She made her way to the other side of the room, where Kristy had set up a folding picnic table and draped a magenta sheet over it before arranging the remaining photos they had found, next to the trunk. Some had been framed while others of miscellaneous size were laid on the table in neat rows. "I can't believe how much this place has changed." Her brow furrowed as she picked up a duplicate of the family photo that was on display at the Elmore Jenson house. "We have this same photo at the Elmore house. But, the one in the frame looks like a duplicate." Flipping it over and finding only the date, she pressed her lips together. "Cassandra noted something, in her diary, about the family photo. Eighteen eighty-seven." Pointing to the 14-year-old Matthew, she shook her head. "If that's Matt, half of these kids aren't Elmore and Cassandra's." She sighed. "This is going to irk me, Karen. If you don't mind waiting for supper, I'll run home and grab my albums Cassandra put together?" Replacing the photo on the table, she gave Karen a hopeful grin.

"Those were all of the photos we found next two this old trunk." She pointed to the steamer. "There might be more in the trunk but, the lock is so heavy and thick, and old. We haven't found a key and I haven't asked-- we haven't found the key." Karen had to stop herself from saying Matthew's name, even though, she had Tabitha keep him busy, that afternoon, by asking him about small details of his life that weren't too invasive. Kristy helped her mom in setting up the bed and other small spots before Laura came over. The two were proud of their fine job and celebrated by having a glass of iced tea while admiring their handiwork, sitting back to back, in the middle of the room.

Glancing down at the steamer, Laura's brow furrowed. "We have a lot of keys. I could check for you. Or, we can just break the lock....? I don't see what harm it'd do." She shrugged and looked back to Karen.

"Oh. I don't want you to go out of your way." Karen was in awe of the request. 

Shaking her head, Laura smiled and stepped closer to Karen. "No trouble. And, I think I have a wedding photo of them. I want to help, Karen. Please? Cassandra had a hunch, after she visited Angela, after the funeral, that he didn't kill himself." She paused and glanced up at the rafter, half-expecting to see a rope draped over the beam. "The stories about him and my family have just been so horrible to live with, and I know, if there was some proof that he didn't take his own life.......... I can be back in 30 minutes. Okay?"

Nodding, Karen followed Laura back downstairs, turning off the light and shutting the door behind her. She watched Laura leave, from the front window and then turned to find she wasn't alone, in the front room. "How long have you been there?" She asked with a smile.

"She looks alot like Roberta." Matthew stood in front of the fireplace, with his hands behind his back, and glanced out the window to see Laura's taillights.

Karen smiled. "You didn't want to meet her?"

"After my death, when Angie moved out, a truck came and covered my furniture with sheeting while my uncle stood outside, his back to me. Five long years, I was alone. I couldn't hold anything or see myself, in a mirror. The sound of my own voice was gone. My uncle couldn't see me or feel me or hear me. I spent every moment I could with my Angie but she couldn't hear my try to comfort her, couldn't feel me kiss her tears or feel my arms around her, holding her. Aunt Cassie was the same. I couldn't comfort the people I loved. After Angie left, no one came to spend time with me, no one spoke my name. My cousin lived here and refused to acknowledge my presence." Matthew looked at he floor, shame evident on his face. "When Margaret was a little girl, her younger sister passed after she was hit by a milk truck while running across the road. Right out front." When he looked back up at her, he waved a hand to the window and glanced at the dark street. "Days afterward, a car came and Roberta, her husband and little four-year-old Margaret stood in my foyer, and spoke to a man about selling my home. They called it cursed. Margaret came to stand right here and stared at me. Asked if I was the angel who would take care of her sister. Bobbie tried but didn't see me. Told this little, precious girl, there was no angel. After that, Margaret wouldn't see me, anymore. She called me a demon who took her sister from her." His expression dimmed as he remembered the awful words from the child. "Margaret's daughter was the same disbelieving girl. I cannot get my hopes up for this young woman."

Karen came closer to him but stopped a few feet away. "She wants to believe, Matthew. Give her that chance."

"How is it you three see us and are so accepting of us; Tabitha and I?"

Sighing, Karen felt his words stab a spot she had tried to overcome. "My younger sister committed suicide after a long struggle against depression. My husband, Mark, couldn't understand how the children and I could be so upset over losing her. We moved here, after the divorce, and well-, you know the rest. All within six months. Sometimes, when you lose a loved one, you're allowed a glimpse of them to know they're alright. I think it's those that can handle that knowledge that are able to deal with seeing those lost loved ones. I can't see my sister, either but perhaps her daughter needs her more, right now." She paused and swallowed a lump in her throat before adding, "Roberta tried. She loved you. Charles, Cassandra, Margaret held onto this house because, I believe, she knew you were here. Laura wants to help you both find peace. She's devoted her life to solving your mystery. What have you got to lose?"

Tabitha's arm snaked around Matthew's back as her head lay on his right shoulder. "I'll be here, with you, Matt. You aren't alone anymore, doll." She listened to the whole conversation and saw the pain in Matthew's eyes as he wrestled with past torment.

 

TBC.


	14. Chapter 14

15 Octobre 1904  
Boston, Massachusetts

"What is it you do, for a living, Matthew?" Elizabeth Dowling sat across from the two newlyweds and sipped her tea with elegant demeanour. A woman of only 22 years older than her daughter, still looked young enough to pass for Angela's sister. The same chestnut hair pulled back into a tight braided bun, at the base of her skull and sparkling amber eyes peered out from under a thick draping of sideswept bangs. Thin features and alabaster skin projected a woman of immense beauty and aristocracy that choked Matthew, even as he sat across from her a good four feet. Replacing the teacup to its saucer and setting them both on her blue velveted skirt.

Matthew swallowed his sip of tea and cleared his throat, to answer. "I work for a prestigious law firm, in Denver, Ma'am." Their second day in Boston and Angela made sure he looked perfect, to meet her mother. His hair was trimmed, and a brand new suit and shoes and his award-winning smile was all he had to offer. They sat in the elegant sitting room , which was larger than his entire first floor. He stole glances at her art pieces, placed carefully around the vast room. Matthew's heart pound in chest as his eyes made their way up, where a mural of Di Vinci's "Battle of Anghiari" took up the entire ceiling. He couldn't help but stare for a moment, until Angela elbowed him, smiling discreetly, to her husband, to get his attention back to her mother's questions. "Hm? I'm sorry. I was admiring your lovely home, Ma'am."

The sitting room, as well as the rest of the house, was decorated in upper-side of Victorian elegance with crystal vases, tall polished mirrors with golden trim on nearly every wall of the downstairs rooms and fashionable high-backed sofas imported directly from England. Also in each room held glorious and shining crystals in rounded chandeliers of Queen Victoria style. High-shined white marble ran throughout the house with patches of large English rugs that seemed to tell a story within the weaving. Matthew couldn't help but notice that the Dowling household resembled more of a castle than a "villa," as Angela had called it. Two red davenports, sitting across from each other with a long crystal table between them, in the middle of the vast room, gave Matthew the impression of being inside a fishbowl.

Elizabeth grinned and concealed a low giggle as she took another sip of her black tea. "He is charming, Angela." She came from a wealthy family, herself, but admired her only daughter's tenacity for getting out of an appointed marriage and finding a man who wanted nothing to do with her father's business. Elizabeth stayed out of her husband's business just as he stayed out of her affairs around the house. She prided herself for being on the committee of women's suffrage.

Angela giggled as Matthew blushed and gave a guilty glance down, at his shoes. "He is a gentleman, mother. I only wish father were here to meet him. They would have so much in common." Winking at her husband, they exchanged smiles before the downstairs maid interrupted them to announce that dinner was served in the dining room. She stood and brushed the wrinkles from her emerald dress skirt, waiting for Matthew to also stand and offer his arm to her and her mother, placing the teacup and saucer down, on the table, between them.

"Yes. He sends his apologies but business has taken him away, these chilling days. However, he will be home, in a few days." Draping her right arm through the crook of his arm and placing her left hand on his forearm, she felt Matthew's toned muscle, underneath his pressed jacket. "Tell me, Matthew. Do you enjoy being a solicitor, in Denver?" 

Matthew's breath caught. "A solicitor, no ma'am. I am the head of Accounts Payable, for the firm. I work directly under Gerald White and Edward Deacon. Unflattering, yes but, I can assure you, I can more than satisfy Angela's needs and desires." Turning back to his wife, he winked as Angela caught his eye. "She has more than fulfilled mine." For the first time in his life, Matthew felt needed and treasured and, above all, self-worth to have two beautiful women on either arm. Taking a closer look at the wallpaper, as they made their way out of the room and out to the formal dining room, he noticed that the stitching was real golden silk threading mixed in with a finer thread of azure background.

As they sat down at the long, oak table taking up most of the space of the room, it became evident that Elizabeth had enjoyed rich paintings of English style. Paintings of all shapes and sizes depicting English countrysides and cityscapes. "Tell me, Matthew, what does your family do, in Denver?" She knew enough to keep politics out of the dining room but couldn't resist learning more juicy details of her handsome new son-in-law.

"My uncle is on the City Council. He plans to run for mayor, next term. My aunt is on the Women's Temperance League and my cousin, Charles, is the solicitor of the family." Matthew set down his fork, tines down on the edge of the plate as not to dirty the white silk tablecloth, and picked up a dinner roll, breaking off a piece and taking a bite. The centrepiece, further down to the middle of the table caught his eye. Fresh cut flowers adorned a small rounded purple crystal vase. He had noticed that flowers were in abundance in nearly every room they visited and always in crystal vases of some rare colour and shape.

Elizabeth smiled and nibbled at her roast beef. "No brothers or sisters?" Stabbing at a piece of roast, she glanced upward, at him and waited for his answer.

"No ma'am."

"And, your mother? What does she do?" Her posture and her mannerisms suggested the firm well-being of aristocracy; a life she had been accustomed to for more than half her life and would fight to the death to keep it, if given the chance. Yet, there had been a gentler side to her when it came to her daughter. Elizabeth had noticed a distinct change in her daughter's mood and movements, when around this amasing young, but older than Angela, gentleman. She watched him closely and noted with critical flare how he treated her only daughter. Without realising it, he had won both women over with simple, inexpensive gestures.

Embarrassment washed over him but, Matthew smiled politely and answered with as little shame as he could. "She passed when I was 10. My uncle is her only living relative."

"I see." Elizabeth's tone softened. "My apologies."

Angela, who had been quiet, wiped her mouth as she finished her bite and rubbed her right temple. "Mother, if you'll excuse me, I think I will go and lie down. I have a terrible headache." Sitting to Matthew's right, she motioned for the servant to move her chair back so she could stand up.

Standing also, Matthew turned to help his wife stand and gave her a concerned look. "Shall I escort you upstairs, Angie?"

Angela paused and gave a tired, pained smile. "I'll be fine. Please, continue. Mother must show you the garden and the library. I know you'll love them." Kissing Matthew's cheek, she made her way out of the room and up the stairs to their room, to lie down. 

Elizabeth smiled as Matthew sat back down, once Angela was out of the room. "She hasn't let anyone call her 'Angie' since she was a little girl. She must be absolutely smitten with you, Matthew." She gave a knowing grin and a coy wink to her son-in-law. "Now, you must tell me everything about you. I want my Angela to be happy with my new son-in-law." The way Angela had described her parents made Matthew a bit afraid to meet them; however, Elizabeth seemed enamoured with him the moment she saw them on her doorstep. "And, my dear young man, if she is not -in any way- satisfied with you, I shall have nothing better to do than to take you apart, piece by small piece. Am I understood?" Her tone changed from calm and inviting to cold and flat, in an instant.

Matthew smiled discreetly and nodded.

Later in the evening, Matthew carefully opened the door to their room and slipped in. Angela had pulled the curtains and laid herself down on the bed, propping the pillows behind her head. The room was dark, save for a small, diminishing candle burning, on the vanity table, next to the window, on the far side of the room. Removing his shoes and placing them beside the door, he padded carefully over to her bedside and sat down, next to her. "Still in pain, dear?" he whispered.

Angela sighed and nodded, rolling onto her left side, away from him. The champagne coloured bedspread against the emerald of her dress seemed to stand out. She shivered from the slight draft of the opened door. A slight moan and inhale as he had pulled the thin, white throw blanket from the end of the bed, and covered her.

Matthew looked around the room and found the wash basin and jug. Moving over to the dresser, beside the door, on Matthew's side of the bed, he picked up the empty jug and excused himself to the wash closet, down the hallway, for some water. When he returned, he poured the water into the basin and submerged the clean cloth that had been draped over the side, into the water, before carrying the basin over and placing it on Angela's bedside table. Wringing the cloth of excess water, he gently nudged her to roll onto her back and draped the cool cloth over her forehead. "Is there anything I can get you, dear?" The same soft whisper that was just loud enough for her to hear, came from close to her right ear.

"No." She mewled. "Go away."

"Alright. I will check on you, a little later. Rest well, Angie." Bending over to kiss her cheek, as she had rolled away from him, again, he stood and moved to sit down in the chair, at the vanity. Matthew sat there for about an hour, watching her, until he dozed. Watching Angela sleep, he was reminded of how he felt, taking care of his ailing mother. For a nine-year-old, he had to grow up rather quickly and learn things an adult would do, instead of being a child. The scent of dust and disease filled his nose as his ears heard the sound of galloping horses and the wheels of the Butterfield stages, on the dirt street, below the window. He could feel the softness of the rug, on his cheek, as he curled up, on the floor, beside his mother's brass bed.

A short time later, Angela sighed as she rolled over to find her husband asleep, in the same uncomfortable chair at the vanity, with his cheek resting on his hand, supported by his elbow on the tabletop. Her headache had finally relaxed and dispersed and she sat up and smiled at his shadowed figure. Silently moving to swing her legs over the side of the bed as reach for the match case, beside the bed, and turning on the lamp on her bedside table, she carefully pushed herself up, off of the bed and crept over to Matthew's side. Bending down and kissing the top of his head, she straightened and smiled down at his upturned face as he open his eyes to look at her. "Have you been there long?"

"Not long. Are you feeling better, dear?" Matthew smiled.

"Yes." Turning her body and sitting down in his lap, Angela removed his pocket watch from his right vest pocket and opened it, checking the time. "Four thirty-two. Mother busies herself with her boutiques and fashion preparations. The evening is ours, my love. What shall we do first?" She replaced the watch to the pocket and smiled as she coyly and draped her arms around his neck as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She stared at him, admiring the light glow of his face, from the shine of the lamp. Angela had never known such a mysterious man before and was intrigued to find out more about the man she had married. "Shall we see the sights of Boston? Or, take in the symphony? Or, shall we stay here and acquaint each other more?"

Matthew took a breath and smiled back at her. "I have never been to Boston so, what do you recommend. I am at your mercy, darling."

Angela smiled. Moving her hand to rub his left cheek with her thumb, she leaned closer and kissed his soft lips. "Why don't we stroll along Commonwealth? You might get the feel for the city? Or, there's State Street, where Paul Revere and Samuel Adams once adorned their walks." She was trying to read him by offering several things but couldn't seem to put her finger on him. "Or, there's Quincy Market. Places to eat and shop." Angela sighed and stood up, moving to her walk-in closet on the far left side of the room, adjacent to the room door, and opening the door, her back to him. She reached in and flicked on the light as she browsed through her gowns.

Watching her as she busied herself with sorting through her collection of evening gowns and not paying attention at all to him, Matthew pushed himself to his feet and made his way over to stand in the doorway. "What do you suggest we do first?" Folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe, he watched her movements and admired the shape of her body. They had been so busy with preparations and travel and settling in and visiting with friends and family of Angela's that they hadn't consummated their marriage. Matthew had urges but was reserved about forcing himself on her. 

"Hm?" Angela hadn't turned away from searching through her gowns and shoes to pay attention. The closet was a smaller version of her bedroom. Big enough to have a small, round table and cushioned sitting room chair. The room itself had dresses sorted and hung according to time of day, colour, newest to oldest and a separate rack for special occasions. With clothing on either side of the door, the shoes and hats had their own shelves, on the back wall, behind the table and chairs.

The tip of his tongue wet his lips as he pushed off of the frame and came to stand behind her, carefully reaching up to place his hands on her arms. "Perhaps, we could stay in?" He swallowed. "It's been eight days since our vows. It seems we haven't had any time to ourselves. Couldn't we skip the outside world, for once?" Leaning over and kissing her neck, Matthew eyed her expression for her response.

Angela smiled and leaned into the kiss. Sighing and turning her attention to him, she turned around and pressed herself against him, feeling his arousal as she reached up to run her fingers through his short, blond hair. "You are a romantic, Mister Jenson. Aren't you? Tell me, how many ladies have fallen for that line?" A playful grin at his embarrassment of the question. He averted his eyes and it made her laugh. "Tisk tisk. No need to be embarrassed, love. A lady never kisses and tells, either." Winking at him, she lifted herself to the balls of her feet and kissed his cheek before turning back to her gowns and shoes. A narrow, 8 tier, 7 drawer jewelry cabinet stood over in the far corner of the cyan coloured room. A large rose coloured area rug covered the majority of the middle of the room and made it sound less hollow. 

"You would be unimpressed by the lack of numbers, I'm afraid." He blushed.

Angela laughed to herself. "You? Come now. A handsome man such as you, with no prior courtings? Matthew, you are such a modest creature." Though meant to sound comical, she couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't had romance before her. Had she have met him on her own, she would have thanked him for supper and the carriage and had nothing to do with him other than casual conversations and meetings among her peers. Yet, it had been the choosing of someone else that controlled her dealings with him and, giving some small credit to Gerald, Angela hadn't found Matthew as repulsive as she expected to.

Closing his eyes and sighing, momentarily, Matthew turned his attentions to her dresses and gowns. "I suppose a walk along the avenue will do some good." 

Angela glanced back at her husband. "Are you a virgin, Matthew?" She smirked. His visible unease of the question prompted her to remove from the rack a gown she had been looking at, and drape it over the table before moving back to stand in front of him, again. "Nothing to be ashamed of, darling. Although, for any other man, they wouldn't have waited this long to consummate. However, I am glad you have more restraint than most."

"I would never take advantage of you, Angie. I hope you know that." Matthew placed his hands on her hips and gazed into her eyes, hoping she would understand his actions and not mistake them for a cruel jest.

His words had touched her and she smiled innocently back at him. "No, I don't believe you would do that, Matthew." 

Matthew smiled. "A walk, then?" He had hoped she hadn't noticed his discomfort and, while she was changing, he would be able to slip away and take care of his body's betrayal.

"Yes. A walk." She smiled back and started undressing herself to change. "Perhaps, we'll find a cozy restaurant to dine? Mother can let the hours slip away, sometimes."

Nodding and clearing his throat, Matthew shifted. "I'll get the coats."

 

*************

Matthew opened the door to the house and turned to scoop his new bride up, into his arms, and carry her across the threshold. Setting her down, inside the foyer, he smiled as she turned to face him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, smiling up at him. "Welcome home, Missus Jenson." Their train had come in only an hour before and Matthew found himself more nervous of arriving home, with his new bride, than he had been at his own wedding. 

"Thank you, Mister Jenson." Angela smiled up at him, not letting him go just yet. Her big, floppy white hat concealed each kiss she stole. Her body shivered with each taste of him and she couldn't help but giggle from the feel of his hands on her hips.

"Ahem." 

Both turning, with a start, to find Stephanie, the younger maid of the two, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Good evening, Stephanie. I would like you to meet the lady of the house, Mrs. Angela Jenson. She is my bride, as of recently." Matthew smiled and introduced them. Looking from the younger woman of 20, back to Angela, he clarified. "Stephanie handles the washings and cleaning of the house while Marie handles everything else.

Stephanie gave a short curtsie with downcast eyes before meeting eyes with her employer, again. "Ma'am. Monsieur, Marie says supper will be served in a few moments and asks if you and madame wish to freshen up? I might run your bath, for you?" Her thin face and frame suggested she had been of poor heritage and was working to save money to afford her family safe passage from France. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun and neatly placed under her white sheer bonnet. 

Angela smiled and reached up to remove her hat. "Yes, Stephanie. Thank you. I would love a hot bath, before supper." Handing the woman her hat before slipping off her long, fur coat, she returned her attentions to Matthew, who removed his own coat and hat and handed them to maid to hang up in the entry. "Care to join me, darling?"

Matthew blushed as he caught Angela's smiling gaze. "Run a bath, Stephanie, please. Have Mrs. Jenson's things arrived, yet?" He asked as the maid curtsied again and shut the front door before making her way up the stairs.

Stephanie stopped on the fifth step up and turned around to answer him. "Yes, monsieur. Madam's things arrived this morning. I spend the afternoon putting them away. If madam follow me, I show you to bedroom and room for madam's things." Turning again as she lead Angela upstairs and down the hall to the master bedroom, she let her change into Matthew's bathrobe while Stephanie ran the bathwater.

**********

Matthew stared at his bed, set up and made, in the attic. Karen had found their linen set that Matthew and Angela were given, as a wedding present, in one of the smaller, unlocked trunks. He stood at the foot of the bed and made his way over to stand on his side of the bed, placing his hand over the pillow. He sighed, defeated. Looking over, at the photo beside the bed, he stared down at himself. "All these years, I had forgotten what I looked like." Turning away from the bed and looking over to the table of photographs, he moved closer to the nearest edge of the table and stared down at his memories. 

The chime of the door had sounded faintly, from downstairs. Turning to look over his shoulder, at the door, Matthew didn't make a move. He turned back to the table and stared down at the small group photo of Elmore, Cassandra and the others. Staring at his aunt's smiling black and white face, he gave a weak smile back. "I miss you, aunt Cassie." From downstairs, he heard voices coming from the parlour. Laura had returned with her additions and was very excited to talk about them. He could hear them making their way upstairs and disappeared as they started on the stairs.

Their footsteps came closer until they were at the door. Karen made her way over to the steamer trunk and knelt down to remove the stacks of books and magazines that were on top of it before Laura also knelt down and removed the old fashioned key, from her left pants pocket, and slid it into the lock. 

"I called mom to ask her about the trunk and she said grandma saw Roberta lock the trunk, when they moved the chandelier up here, in the forties. I guess the Germans were thought to be looters, too. Anyway, she also said that Roberta locked the attic door, itself. Grandma must have reopened it to shove all of the other people's junk up here. Uncle Charles was kind of a packrat, I guess." Laura paused turned the key and heard the thick, heavy clack of the old, rusty lock as it unlocked. Raising a shaky hand up to slide the lock out of the protruding loop and raising the thin brass flap, she paused a moment and turned to look at Karen. A chill passed through her as she kept her hand on the lid of the trunk, not moving to open it. "I have always wondered what was in this trunk. I have chills." Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Laura lifted the lid of the trunk and slowly opened her eyes to peer inside.

A narrow sliding tray, on the left side, was filled with papers and more old photographs. Beneath that, a pile of neatly folded clothes and several stacks of papers and files. On the right side of the trunk was a set of Egyptian cotton sheets and pillowcases, also neatly folded. The tray held several important papers and Laura sifted through them. "Matt and Angela's marriage certificate. Octobre 7th, 1904." Picking up the small and folded paper and unfolding it to look at it, they stared at the writing and the two signatures, at the bottom. "I've never seen his signature, before."

Karen smiled. "He had beautiful handwriting."

Laura nodded and smiled sombrely. "He did. They were married on my birthday." The smile widened to show how proud she was of that small fact.

Karen shifted and peered down, along the sides, of the trunk. Under the tray, she looked closely at the clothes that were folded. "This looks like a tux. And shirt. And,......" Karen spotted pages and a red cover to a book, standing spine down, along the front of the trunk, "a book?" She reached in and picked it up, swallowing the lump in her throat as she opened the front cover. "The Diary of Angela E. N. Dowling Jenson. This is Angela's diary." Karen sat back and flipped through the stiff, yellowed pages. "May first, nineteen hundred and four. His name is Matthew. He is everything and more, than what he said Matthew would be. Charming, soft blond hair and heaven-sent blue eyes. I am to meet him for dinner, tomorrow afternoon. My heart is aflutter. First entry." She flipped through a few more pages and stopped to read another entry. When she did, a fold piece of paper slid out from a few pages further. Karen picked it up. 

Laura watched Karen pick up the paper and open it to look at it. "What is that?"

"It's a doctor's exam results." Karen then flipped through the pages to find where the folded paper dropped out of. She paused and read the entry several entries before. "Novembre twenty-first, nineteen hundred and four. Matthew came home late, this afternoon. He has been working so hard, these last few weeks. He hasn't been sleeping much, and when he has, it has been restless and broken. So, this evening, after supper," Karen paused and shifted, uneasily. She cleared her throat and glanced up at Laura, who watched her with concern.

"What?" Laura leaned closer to read, upside down, what Karen had started to read but paused as she realised what Angela was writing about. Laura smiled and sat back, staring at a handful of photos she had found, in the tray. "Karen, we're both adults. I'm okay with knowing that my parents had sex."

Clearing her throat more audibly, Karen continued reading. "He sat at his desk and stared at his mysterious paperwork he has been worrying over. I made him some tea and dumped the white packet into it and stirred it. I handed it to him and told him to drink and that it would help him to relax. After a few moments, he relaxed and finished his tea. Within ten minutes, he was docile enough that I could make him forget about his papers and reclined against the back of his chair. I unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, exposing his bare chest and arms. We kissed and I continued downward. He moaned and watched me until he couldn't stand it any longer. We made love, there, on the floor of the parlour. So soft, so quiet. I could feel him holding back. He wanted to ravage my body but, something was telling him not to...? We made love several times, afterwards. He sleeps, now yet, there is no peace, for him. Not even in his dreams." Karen met Laura's eyes as she finished the entry.

"She drugged him. She drugged him and seduced him. I'll bet you anything, that's why he was ill for so long and no one knew why." Laura's tone changed and, for once, invited anger, as if she was incensed that Angela would do something so horrible to her own husband.

Sighing and glancing back down at the folded paper, in her lap, Karen blinked at it a few times before returning to the book and the entries. "Christmas, nineteen hundred and four. Matthew and I spent the day with his family. We came home after supper. He wasn't feeling well." Reading the next few entries to herself, Karen paused to check her watch. "Oh, supper's ready." Using the paper in her lap as a placeholder, she closed the diary and stood up, waiting for Laura to follow her back downstairs, with the photos. "I hope you like lasagna...?"

Laura followed Karen into the kitchen and placed the photos down, on the far side of the countre. "Yes, actually. I do. It was a favourite of my dad's." Looking at the fingers of her left hand, she showed them to Karen. "Mind if I wash up?" Offering a guilty smile.

"Sure. Upstairs,...." Karen started.

"To the right." They said in unison.

Karen used the time to wash her hands in the kitchen sink, before using the oven mitts, hanging from a magnetic hook, on the side of the refrigerator, to remove the lasagna from the oven. As she placed the hot tray on the stove top, she turned to investigate a noise, from the foyer. "Good. Just in time for supper. How was work?" She smiled as Kristy strolled into the kitchen, wearing her uniform as she hadn't wanted to change clothes before leaving work.

Kristy sighed and sat sideways on the chair that faced the backyard. "Murder. People really get grumpy when they're hungry."

Nodding and laughing, Karen turned to retrieve a plastic spatula from the knife drawer. "That was the one thing I could never get used to, either. Wanna get changed and wash up for supper? Laura's joining us."

Kristy sighed again and stood up, stretching her sore muscles. "Yea, I suppose."

Smiling over her shoulder as she sliced the lasagna into six pieces, Karen nodded her head towards the cupboard. "But first, how about setting the table in the dining room? Please?"

Kristy made her way over to the cupboard and shrugged as she removed four plates and equal sets of silverware. She glanced down at the photos and book, on the countre. "What's this?" Lifting the lid of the book, she read the name on the inside cover page. "Angela's diary? Where'd you find it?" Turning back around to catch her mother's eye, she gave Karen a shocked expression.

"In that steamer trunk, upstairs. She had the key."

"Does she know about them yet?" Kristy whispered. Her eyes widened as they filtered back down to the red velvet book.

Karen shook her head. "Not yet. But, we might get some answers to a few things and I have a feeling he's lurking."

"What's he waiting for?"

"Just give him time." Karen whispered back as she heard Laura coming back downstairs. "Set the table, would you please?" Speaking in her normal tone and turning back to the lasagna, she grabbed a potholder, from the back of the stove, and carried the long, white dish into the dining room with Kristy following behind her with the plates and silverware.

***********

After supper, they gathered in the parlour to finish looking over the diary and albums, Laura brought. "Some of these pictures have captions on them that even grandma couldn't figure out but they were written in Cassandra's handwriting." She paused to slip one photo of the front of Matthew's house, after completion, from the holder and flip it over. "Caitlyn told mom that, after Matt died, she had Marie gather up what he was working on and she and uncle Charlie tried to figure out what he was doing. Cassandra and Charlie spent years on these things, until her death in '17." Shaking her head and sighing as the back of the photo read only the year; 1901, she flipped it over and searched the the photo for anything out of the ordinary. The front walk of the house was so clean and trim that she couldn't believe how different the house looked, now. She replaced it and set the book on the table, still open to the page, and picked up the stack of photos she had brought down from the attic. "Why would Angela leave her diary?"

Karen shrugged. "It starts when she met Matthew and," flipping to the last entry, "ends the day she moved out."

"Well, that sounds like a set up." Kristy sat on the arm of the sofa that faced the fireplace. She had changed from her uniform to shorts and a T-shirt with her fuzzy slippers. 

Wrinkling her nose at the suggestion, Karen met eyes with Kristy momentarily but continued to look at the entries for some sort of help. "June fifth, nineteen hundred and five. I've begun packing up as Elmore seems more and more anxious to remove me from this house. If it hadn't been for Cassandra, I would have joined my beloved Matthew weeks ago. She has kept me from madness so many times; however, I don't have the heart to tell her what I know will only add to the ire of Elmore and this house. I will forever treasure this link I have to Matthew and hope it grows up to know how much Matthew would have loved him."

There was a long silence in the room as the realisation of the entry came over them. 

Laura looked up from the photos in her lap. Her eyes widened and jaw dropped open in shock. "She was pregnant." Shaking her head in disbelief, she reached out for the book Karen held and reread the entry to herself. "But, there was never any mention of a baby. Not even after she remarried." She shook her head, her eyes still glued to the few short sentences on the page.

"A child. Angie had a child?" Matthew's shocked voice came from the parlour entryway. He had been lurking, just out of view, but became visible as Karen read the entry. 

Turning to find the male voice, Laura spun around and stood up with a start. "Who--?" Stammering and stepping backwards, in alarm, her right calf caught the table leg and she fell backwards, landing on her bum as her eyes focused widely on Matthew.

"Are you alright?" His piercing blue eyes stared down at her as he stepped forward but he stopped as she crawled backwards, still staring up at him. He looked from Laura to Karen as he realised his mistake and stepped back to stare at the floor. "Forgive me."

"Ka- Karen?" Laura swallowed the exasperation as she made quick glances from Matthew to Karen and back again.

Karen closed the book and placed it on the sofa cushion as she moved to where Laura now sat, back pressed against the side of the fireplace. "Laura, I am so sorry. We didn't know how to tell you." Helping the young woman to her feet, she was at a loss for words as Laura's shocked expression moved from Matthew to her.

"You knew about this? He's been here, all this time?"Laura asked as they stood up. Turning back to Matthew, she examined him closer. "You've been here for a hundred years and never said a word to anyone? Why? HOW?!" She inched her way closer to him and reached out her hand to test and make sure this was not a cruel joke Karen and Kristy were playing on her. Stretching her fingertips out, she quickly recoiled her hand as her thin fingers moved through Matthew's right shoulder.

Matthew turned his head to watch Laura's hand and calmly regained eye contact with the awed woman.

Tabitha had also been lurking and made herself known as the silence grew thick. "Don't blame him, doll. Matt really didn't want to alarm anyone." Showing herself as she stood beside him on the left, she smiled at Laura, pleasantly, and introduced herself. "I'm Tabby Moore."

"Right." Laura breathed out as soon as she regained her senses. Clearing her throat and stepping back to reach for her purse, she glanced back at Karen and Kristy. "I think I should be going. I don't feel well." Grabbing and clutching her purse close to her, she gave a nervous smile to the two ghosts before stepping toward the doorway. "Nice to um, meet you."

Kristy turned and stood and was about to say something when Karen stopped her.

"Please, stay. Mrs. Eppley-- Karen-- has told me so much about you and how much you've studied me. Please?" Matthew stepped in front of her to keep her from leaving. Pleading silently with her, Matthew hoped she would change her mind about leaving and help finish the mystery. His face held the same sad expression he had wore in so many of his photos. He knew he couldn't keep her there, if she chose not to stay but he had wanted to speak with his own kin about what Cassandra and Charles had started, after his death.

Clutching her white burlap purse with a thick leather strap, to her chest, Laura inhaled. She had never imagined she would be so close to her own ancestor. "How- How long have you been here?" Laura corrected herself as she realised how her question sounded. "I mean, I know how long you've been here but, how long have you been standing there?"

Matthew looked to Tabitha and then over to where Kristy and Karen stood before meeting eyes with Laura, again. 

"How do I know it's really you and this isn't some joke?" Frustration seeped into her words as Laura desperately hoped it was anything but a joke.

Matthew blinked. "When you were four, your mother brought you here, with your grandmother, because they wanted to appraise my house. You became bored and did exactly what your great aunt Caity did and climbed into the pantry, in the kitchen, and curled up and fell asleep on the bottom shelf."

Laura shivered as a chill ran down her back. Looking to Tabitha, who still stood in the spot she had appeared, she smiled. "You were here, too?"

Nodding, Tabitha smiled back and watched Matthew closely. "Please say you'll help, doll. Matt's been waiting an awful long time to see his family, again."

Laura said nothing, only looked back to Matthew with a calm expression. "You gave Roberta a doll for her seventh birthday. What was her name?" Needing one last validation, she watched Matthew's eyes closely, searching for any form of deception.

"Mary Happiness. She chose the name and only she and I knew it."

Laura took a long moment to think before finally nodding and smiling. "Okay...... Mom's gonna flip."

 

Continued


	15. Chapter 15

07, June 1885  
Virginia City, Nevada

Matthew stared at the long wooden box in the ground. His eyes moved to where a carved cross should have been. He stood there with his best and only suit on. Gray wool was heavy and hot as a bead of sweat rolled down his back. His small, black bowler hat diverted only partial sunlight. A heavy sigh as his downcast eyes looked up to find that he was alone among the rows of makeshift wooden crosses and gravestones. Another sigh as his eyes looked downward to finish his prayer, for his mother. 

A shovel stabbed into the hard, dusty ground, next to him, and startled Matthew out of his thoughts. "Burnin' daylight, kid."

Nodding, Matthew shrugged and turned to find Thomas standing at the entrance to the small, rickety cemetery, waiting for him. Cora's grave had been placed at the back of the acre lot and Matthew dipped his head and placed the small bundle of wild flowers next to her wooden headstone before continuing on to meet his step-father. He walked behind the man by a step or two, keeping his head bent in grief. He could hear the people whispering his name and seeing the women shielding their mouths while leaning over to one another and pointing to him as they spoke, from the corner of his eyes. 

Thomas was an older man than Cora but younger than Elmore. Tall and thin. He had arrived on a stage bound for New Orleans from Seattle but was way-layed after a night of heavy drinking and gambling. Black hair was trimmed and well-kept but mostly hidden under his tall maroon top hat. He was clean shaven and well dressed for a man who was "just passing through" but stayed for two years, three months and six days. "You leave on the morning stage for your uncle's, in Denver. I've got to get to New Orleans by next month and I don't need a child tagging along." Thomas won a small, one room house on the edge of town, on a small street named Dixie Lane. 

Matthew stopped just before the porch and stared at the warped board with a corner that stuck up, waiting for Thomas to open the door. He heard the door open and Thomas' heavy boots on the creaking boards as the man entered the home. A sigh and Matthew stepped up onto the porch and took the few steps inside, walking over to his bed and pulling the small suitcase out, from underneath. Removing his hat and placing it on the end of the bed, he rubbed the moisture from his eye.

"I've already packed for you." Thomas' voice was cold and hard. He stood in the doorway and watched the boy turn and sit down on his small bed. "I'll be back later. I have.... business to take care of." He made eye contact with the young man, looking down his nose at Matthew. A long bushy black mustache draped over his top lip as he hadn't been to the barber that day due to burying his wife. With a huff and a sharp turn, Thomas slammed the door shut, leaving Matthew alone, with only the oil lamp burning on the table. He stood on the porch, brushing the dust off of his maroon waistcoat sleeves before making his way down the street to the Saloon for a bite to eat and a few hands of cards.

Matthew stared at the door for a long while, waiting for Thomas to come back and bring him some food. The sun set behind the mountains and left him alone with the low burning lamp. His bed lie in the far back left corner of the large room, while his mother's and Thomas' bed took up the far right corner. Between their beds was the small fireplace with a dirty and sooted hearth. At the end of Matthew's bed sat the black barrel stove, adjacent to the white sink. In the space between he and the door, sat the small, square table. A paper caught his eye as it lay on the table, in front of Thomas' spot. Matthew stood up and made his way over to sit in Thomas's chair, staring at the wired message, from Denver.

To Mr. Thomas Dyer:

WE WILL BE EXPECTING MATTHEW ON THE AFTERNOON STAGE, THURSDAY.  
PLEASE SEND WITH HIM HIS BELONGINGS AND SCHOOLWORK. I HAVE WIRED THE APPROPRIATE  
FUNDS TO YOUR ACCOUNT, FOR YOUR TROUBLE. 

E. JENSON

Matthew sat back in the chair and stared blankly at the paper on the table. He had an uncle? His mother never mentioned him. His stomach grumbled that it was hungry and Matthew groaned. He was a lanky boy, not too tall for his age but taller than most boys in his class. Shaggy blond hair had fallen in his eyes and over his ears as Thomas had spent his barber shop money on cards and beer. He wondered how his uncle would feel about him, knowing Cora was not coming along, also.

Spotting the small photo of his mother, beside their bed, Matthew got up from the table and made his way over to it. He stared at her face and sighed. The yellow tint of photo had almost given her life, instead of the pale and frail young woman in the coffin. 

Cora Lyn Jenson stood five feet and seven inches with a slendre figure and long light brown hair that had bleached itself blonde from years of standing in the sun and calling to cowboys as they passed by. Light blue eyes that were kind and sad had always managed to find her son and reassure him that he was loved and cared for. Her face was soft and pale with features of Scandinavian descent. 

Matthew stared at her photo, committing it to memory before raising it to his lips and placing a kiss on her cheek. His eyes glanced up, at the bed that hadn't been made and the two pillows that had been askew, ontop of the blanket. Looking back to the shut door and then back down to the photo, Matthew turned and made his way back over to his own bed and opened his packed suitcase. The clothes had been wadded up and carelessly thrown inside, along with his mother's brush that she had often combed his hair with. Carefully, he pulled out his clothes and folded them carefully before setting them to the side. When he had finished, Matthew neatly placed the shirts on one side and pants on the other before laying the photo of his mother on the white folded shirt and closing the case. Locking it again and placing it on the floor, he then returned to his mother's side of the bed and pulled out her carpet bag and went back over to open the small wooden bedding cabinet, at the end of his bed, and placed a few toys and trinkets into the bag. Matthew removed his shoes and crawled up onto his bed to lie down. He stared at his mother's pillow, across the room and waited to fall asleep.

A knock at the door and a hushed feminine voice followed. "Matthew...? Are you in?" Suzanne Preston, a young redheaded girl that sat next to him, in class, stood on the porch with a napkin full of biscuits, in her hands.

Sitting up and making his way over to the door, he lifted the latch and opened the door to find the girl standing there, a weak smile greeting him. "Hello, Susie." His eyes went to the white cloth napkin in her hands as she held it out to him.

"It's not much but, mother made extra. I watched Mister Dyer and pa having a meal at the Saloon, living pretty hefty, if you ask me." She paused and looked around for her mother. "Mother says you are going away, tomorrow?"

Matthew nodded. He accepted the bundle and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. "I leave on the morning stage for Denver." Sitting side by side, on the edge of the porch, he opened the bundle and sighed. Picking up a golden brown biscuit and biting into it, Matthew closed his eyes and smiled, enjoying the taste and smell of the bread. "Thank you for the biscuits."

Suzanne grimaced. "It's atrocious how he treats you. I suppose the other people in town are not so nice, either. Mother only gave me a couple, for you, because she knows Mister Dyer is up to no good. I'm sorry, Matthew. I told her you fainted, in class, the other day. She told me it was probably from lack of food and might I say, you do look awful flush and frail. And, the way you're eating them biscuits, it's like you haven't eaten in weeks!" Suzanne silenced herself a moment to watch him eat. She was not exactly his friend but gave him more attention than the other children since she was assigned as his deskmate.

"Four days." Matthew swallowed his mouthful and stared at the darkened ground, in front of them. Taking another bite of his second biscuit, he saw her shock, out of the corner of his eye. He was so hungry that he stuffed his mouth full of bread, until his cheeks filled with food, chewed as a chipmunk would and swallowed bit by bit as not to choke.

"You mean to tell me, you've been starving for four days?! Gracious, Matthew!" Suzanne watched him nod and continue to eat the three biscuits she brought for him. She stood and turned to face him. "Come on. Perhaps mother will take pity on you and fix you a hot meal and some milk."

Matthew stopped eating and swallowed his last bite. "But, your mother doesn't like me being with you."

Suzanne frowned at Matthew's admission. "All mothers have a duty to feed children. It's who they are. Besides, it wasn't that she didn't like you, it was..... come on. You're gonna get fed, whether you like it or not." Reaching down and grabbing his wrist, she pulled him off of the porch and down the street, to her own house. Leaving Matthew to stand on the street, in front of the house, she went inside and called for her mother. "Momma, Matthew liked the biscuits but, he's still hungry."

Mrs. Catherine Preston was a plump woman of 36. She and her husband shared four children with Suzanne being the second oldest. Dark auburn hair was pulled back into a messy bun. The hefty woman was as tall as Cora and boisterous as Cora had been quiet. "And then, you drugged him three houses down, at night, with no shoes on. Come on in, Matthew. Sit at the table and I'll fix you something to eat." She waved him in, as she stood in the doorway of their three room house.

Matthew's lip trembled as he nodded and hurried inside. "Thank you, Mrs. Preston."

"Shameful the way that man takes care of you and your dear departed momma. Then, ya got an ill-fittin' suit an' hair long enough to braid." Mrs. Preston shook her head as she closed the door behind him and turned back to the stove. "Suzanne, set him a place and then go find Josiah's old shoes. See if they'll fit him." She paused with what she was doing and turned back to look at the scrawny boy, now sitting across the table, watching her, silently. "Matthew, I got a hunk of beef, potatoes, carrots and green beans. How does that sound?"

Matthew's eyes widened but he nodded and smiled. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

After eating the meal the woman fixed, drinking the glass of milk that was offered, and getting his hair cut to a decent length, he was given Suzanne's older brother's old shoes. Matthew had never felt such kindness from other children's mothers, especially after he was told to stay away from her daughter, prior to moving in with Mister Dyer. His hands shook as he accepted another biscuit, for the morning journey. "Thank you, ma'am." He stood in the doorway with the wrapped biscuit in his hand. It was now pitch black outside with only the lights of Main Street and the noise of the rowdy ruckus from the Saloon illuminating the night. He stared up at the woman and waited for her to slam the door in his face or spat some retort of "good riddance" but she didn't. He inhaled sharply as she bent over and hugged him. He froze, not sure how to take a strange woman's embrace but, he remembered his manners and thanked her, again.

Suzanne held the lantern as she walked him home and paused on the porch, listening for movement, inside. "Would you ever come back and see us, Matthew?"

Shrugging and blinking back at her, Matthew opened the door and peaked in. He turned back to let her know it was all clear and that Thomas was still at the Saloon. "Perhaps. Maybe one day, your mother will like me enough to let me court you?"

Giggling, Suzanne nodded. "We'll see. Maybe when you're a famous doctor and have a big house." She smiled. "Don't forget me, now." Turning her head to glance back at her house, Suzanne took a breath and turned back to lean forward and kiss him. "I gotta get home 'fore momma starts worryin'. I've never cared what your ma was. I'm sorry she's gone. You come back when you're a rich doctor, alright?"

Matthew nodded and touched his lips as Suzanne turned and headed for home. 

************

The stage stopped at the telegraph office. The driver yawned and stretched before jumping down and opening the door for his four passengers. His attentions then turned to the large mound of suitcases and carpet bags, on top and on the back of the red with yellow trimmed stagecoach. As the passengers stepped out and waited for their luggages, Matthew hesitantly sat in his seat, at the far corner of the stage and peered out the window. He wasn't sure who he should have been looking for but swallowed and waited for the name of "Jenson" to be called.

A woman in a fancy dress appeared by the door and looked in to find the boy staring back at her. "Matthew...?"

Matthew hesitated once again but nodded.

The woman smiled sweetly and reached her hand in. "I am your aunt Cassandra, child. Come, meet your family." She stepped back as he took her hand and climbed out of the coach. "Welcome to Denver, Matthew Jenson. We've been waiting for you." She pointed to a man standing back from the street with two young boys, beside him. Looking back, she could see the pale and tired features look at them with a terrified expression. "That is your uncle, Elmore, and our two boys." Leading him over to where they stood, she introduced them as they walked. "Charles, our oldest son and his younger brother, Nicholas. They have been waiting for their new playmate. Would you like that?"

Matthew smiled up at her and nodded before looking over to Elmore as they came to stop, in front of him. "Hello, sir." Holding out his hand to greet his uncle, he was surprised when the man accepted the formal shake and smiled, greeting him back. He turned as Charles stepped closer to him and held out his hand. 

"Sorry about your mother. Father told us she passed away, last week. Nicky and I thought we'd come along so you don't feel alone. After some lunch and a rest, we could show you where to catch some fireflies." Charles smiled and nudged his little brother as Matthew smiled and nodded. Hugging his newly found cousin and stepping back as his six-year-old brother did the same, he patted Matthew on the shoulder before turning to see the approaching servant Elmore had brought with them with Matthew's luggage, step up behind them.

Matthew sat in the middle of the bench with Nicholas and Charles on either side of him. They sat across from Elmore and Cassandra, who watched the boys acquaint themselves with each other. He wasn't sure about his new family but he knew they were nowhere near the level of cruelty he had known in Virginia City. He found himself being asked a myriad of questions about himself, before Cassandra stopped the two eager boys from overwhelming their older cousin.

When the buggy stopped in front of the large, imposing gothic manor, Matthew stared up at the three-story building and blinked in amasement. "Here? You live here?" He remained in his seat while the others stepped out and down to the cobblestone walkway, that ran along the street, in front of the house. The open top buggy was silver on the outside with red velvet seating. Until he saw the house, Matthew thought the buggy was the most elegant piece he had ever been in.

"This is your home, now, too." Elmore stood and watched Matthew climb down from the buggy and patted the boy's shoulder as he turned to gaze up at the bright windows that dotted elegant patches of the stone and wood house. Elmore brushed off his light gray suit sleeves and raised an eyebrow at the boy's wide-eyed expression. He was clean shaven, save for a properly trimmed mustache and short light brown hair. "Lads, you may show Matthew to his room, please. Gerald will be up shortly with your things, Matthew."

Matthew nodded and followed the two boys into the house but paused at stare at the elegant decor of the inside.

"Yea, it's a lot but you'll get used to it. Come on." Charles smiled brightly and slapped Matthew's back, inviting him to a race up the stairs.

************

4 July 1915

Charles sat in the high-backed easy chair and stared at the fire. His left elbow rested on the padded arm of the chair while his chin balanced on his thumb as his index finger tapped at his left temple. His sullen expression was shook when his six-year-old daughter ran to his side and smiled up at him. The room was dark, save for the fire that roared its life from the Parlour fireplace. Of the several pieces he had acquired from his late cousin's estate, he sat in the very chair where Matthew often spent his brooding hours. After moving in, he spent the day packing and placing Matthew's personal belongings in the far corner of the attic, pausing to stare at the photo of his cousin. "They will be held accountable, Matthew. I promise you, my friend." Charles whispered to the black and white photo.

A sunny yellow dress with a stiff straw hat tied with a red bow in back, and tails that streamed down to her knees, was brand new and fitted for the occasion. Polished white shoes tapped her happiness as she danced in place to get her father's attention. "Poppa! Come see the lights!! Come see!!" Making her way around, from the arm of the chair to crawl up, onto his lap, Olivia's tone changed to match her father's. "Don't you wanna see the lights, poppa?" Hazel eyes stared up his forlorn face. She sat sideways, letting her feet dangle and kick as the anxious child waited for a response. Orange curls bounced on her shoulders as she moved.

Charles sighed and smiled. "Not this year, darling. You and your mother go. Grandmother Cassie would love to see your beautiful dress, button." Placing her on the floor, he patted her back and whispered for her to go help her mother with her little brother and older sister. He sighed as she happily ran out of the room and into the entry, where her mother was standing, holding the 10-month-old boy. Standing up and making his way out of the Parlour, Charles was greeted by the oldest daughter, Camille, coming down the stairs in her apple red sun dress. He smiled and commented on how beautiful the girl of nine looked. Her long light brown hair was braided, in the back and tied at the bottom with a blue felt bow.

Emma stood in the entryway and smiled up at her husband. "You've been sitting there for weeks, dear. Come join your family." Golden brown hair drawn up in a tight bun glistened in the fading evening light. Thin, pale face offered a casual smile but she knew what weighed on her husband's mind. Emma had only known Matthew for a few years and seemed to get along with Angela, on the few occasions they were together so, she understood that he missed his cousin and hung on the reluctance to move into the house, while their's was being completed. "Come. Matthew's mystery will keep another day. Your living family is waiting for you, now."

"Who is Matthew, momma?" Olivia turned to stare up at her mother, as she stood beside the tall, thin woman.

Charles bent down to one knee and smiled, again. "He was my best friend. He lived here, a long time ago and then...... he went away."

"Why, poppa? Why did he leave?" Olivia blinked angelically. Her tiny brow furrowed as she tried to understand why her father's best friend would just leave and not say goodbye.

Taking a breath, Charles kissed his daughter's forehead, ending her worry. "Perhaps, I'll tell you the story someday, when you're older."

Olivia nodded and bowed her head. "Maybe the man in Adam's room will tell me the story."

Husband and wife looked at each other in alarm. "What man in Adam's room, Olivia?" Her mother asked.

Olivia shrugged and bowed her head, averting her eyes from both parents. "The tall man with yellow hair. He looks so sad but he's so nice, poppa." A dread came over her as the room quieted and she could feel all eyes on her. "He tells me stories and tucks me into bed and says he keeps us safe, at night. He's so sad, poppa. Why is he so sad?" Finally, she met eyes with Charles and asked with deep concern for her ghostly friend, whom she had found standing over her brother's bassinet, in the room across the way from her parent's room, several months back.

Charles looked up at Emma and sighed. "I don't know. But, I think it's time you go and see your grandmother and grandfather. Speak nothing of him, tonight is for celebration, not sadness." Looking into the angelic face of his youngest daughter and kissing her cheek before standing and kissing his eldest daughter and receiving a hug from each of them, he turned back to his wife and sleeping son, in her arms. Kissing his wife and placing a gentle hand on Adam's blond-fuzzed head, he bid them goodbye and nudged them out the door.

Pausing to turn and look up at the top of the stairs, Olivia smiled and waved before turning to catch up to her sister, leaving her father to watch the girl's actions before closing the door and turning, himself, to look up at an empty second floor balcony.

Matthew leaned on his arms, on the banister, and smiled and waved to the tiny innocent child. His expression fell slack as the door closed and Charles now stared up, in wonder, at nothing.

Later...

Emma stood in the doorway of Olivia and Camille's bedroom, wondering and praying for the angels to watch over their children, as they slept. The upstairs was dark, save for the hall light, next to the wash room door. Turning and making her way down the hall, to stop at Adam's open door and look in. She leaned against the frame, facing the staircase. A flicker caught her eye as Charles turned off the Parlour light and then the light in the foyer before heading upstairs.

Charles stopped at the top of the stairs. He looked tired as he and his wife met eyes. Coming closer to where she stood, he looked in on their sleeping son and leaned against the opposite side of the door. "Did the girls behave, tonight?"

Smiling and glancing back to her husband, Emma nodded and turned back to the bassinet. "Yes, they played well with their cousins and sat nicely, on the chairs, for the light show. Cassandra inquired to where you were and has asked that you attend breakfast, in the morning." She paused and looked back at him. "Why don't you stop this nonsense and pay attention to your family? He's been dead for 10 years, Charles. Your children and your wife need you now."

Stiffening and pushing off of the frame, Charles turned to look at her. "He was my best friend and only cousin that was close to me. What he and I shared as boys speaks volumes of who he was, as a man. The fact that Gerald White and Edward Deacon are still walking around, alive and well, and my cousin is not, is the real crime, Emma. He knew something about them but I couldn't save him."

Emma blinked. "You remember those days, Charles. Father and he yelling and screaming over that woman's coffin being brought here, to Denver. The days he would spend in the cemetery, sitting there, talking to a wooden headstone. He was forlorn and his marriage was fragile. Instead of the drink, he took refuge in a noose. It was his choice, Charles. He saw no other way out." Her tone was sympathetic and low as not to wake the children or upset her husband even more. 

Charles bowed his head and grit his teeth. "That woman was his mother, Emma. And I refuse to believe such nonsense that my cousin took his own life."

Flinching as if being slapped in the face, Emma moved from the doorway of the baby's room to stand at the foot of their bed, in their bedroom. She began unbuttoning her white blouse and readying for bed, Charles followed her a moment later. "It was a tragedy, dear. He was so young and had a lot weighing on his mind but, the facts point to nothing amiss. Angela has stated he was forlorn, long before that night and he waited until she left to end his suffering. And, all these years later, you move your family into his house and take up this silly obsession that it is a mystery needing to be solved." She stopped her undressing and turned to look at him, standing in the doorway. "If this was not his doing, then whom would want him dead and why? I would hardly place his employers under suspicion due to the fact that they have no grounds for murder. It was your obsession with him that led you to miss William's treatments and then his passing. William needed his father and where were you--? Locked away in the attic, digging in the dust of your cousin's demise."

"I was there for him, as much as I could have been. I couldn't stand to watch his treatments, anymore than you could. William's death was not my doing. Until they find a vaccine, poliosis robbed him of his heath and childhood and us of our eight year old son." Charles took a breath and made his way to his side of the bed and sat down. Their bedroom was set up much like Matthew's and Angela's had been. Charles had even opted to the side of the bed that Matthew had taken. He stared at the wall, in front of him and unbuttoned his cufflinks. "We'll discuss this in the morning. Good night, dear."

Emma took a breath. "Good night."

************

28 August 1927  
743 S. 7th Avenue  
11:31 PM

The long black car pulled up in front of the house and the driver's door opened. The chauffeur stepped out and hurried around to the other side and opened the back passenger door, for his employer. 

A man in a dark gray suit stepped out and turned back to offer his hand to his date. "Your new home, baby." He smiled as she accepted and stepped out to look up at the dark, imposing house.

A brown eyebrow raised gracefully. "Here? You moved me from Hollywood to...." her expression held less than enthusiasm as she waved a hand to the once grand Victorian that now sat in a state of neglect, "a dump." She groaned and snuggled into her white fur wrap, pulling it over her shoulders as a sudden chill went through her. Tabitha's tan bare arms shivered and a cool breeze toyed with the shimmering white sequins on her long, evening gown. "Charlie," faking an amused smile, "I'm going to a hotel. I might be back when it's more........ livable. Ciao!" She turned to climb back into the waiting car when he grabbed her arm and held her back.

"I thought you loved a mystery. It just so happens, that the owner of this place committed suicide, right up there." The man turned and pointed up to the attic window.

"I'm an actress, doll. It's called 'acting'." Tabitha feigned a smiled, again. "And, you want me to live here? He probably offed himself from living in the boonies. Goodbye, Charlie." She turned a again to get into the car and was stopped, again.

Charlie sighed, annoyed. "Give it a peak, baby. Step in for five minutes, and if you don't love it, we'll go to the hotel. Alright?" Wrapping her arm around his, he led her down the walk and up onto the porch, pausing at the door. Reaching out for the knob, he turned the rusty brass and shoved the door open.

The house was dark, quiet and smelled of mold and old leather. 

Tabitha inhaled. "Fragrant, isn't it?" She stared at the blackness a moment before turning back to her lover and nuzzled his right shoulder. "What's so special about this house, again? Afraid of the fuzz?" 

Pulling out the small silver lighter, from his left vest pocket, he flicked it open and held the flame out, to shine into the entryway. Ushering her a step forward, the both stopped suddenly as the door swung closed, in their faces. 

"I think that's a 'no.' I'm going to a hotel, Charlie. Call me when you get this dump into the 20th Century, okie dokie?" Tabitha glanced at the shut door and heard the lock turn in place before quickly turning and making her way back to the car, this time, without interruption of getting in and waiting for him to join her. Sitting on the seat, closest to the open backward facing door, her eyes caught sight of the subtle movement of the lace Parlour curtain. There had been no light in the house and she wondered if she was seeing a ghost or someone playing a trick on them. Shivering again as another chilled breeze embraced her bare arms, she called out to the man on the steps, talking to his henchmen, who had followed in a car, behind theirs. "Charlie..?"

As she slid over and he climbed in, she looked closer at the attic window saw a faint, steady light moving from one side to another, like a dim light bulb was being held whilst the carrier paced, slowly. It faded before she could open her mouth and speak of the vision. The car jerked and shoved her back against the seatback as it moved forward, away from the curb and down the dusty street. Tabitha didn't turn back until they turned the corner and were safely on their way to the fanciest and brightest posh hotel, on the far side of town.

They checked in and followed the bellhop into the glass lift, to the third floor, and down the hall to their suite, before she was kissed on the cheek and told to enjoy herself whilst he conducted business, in the lounge.

Sighing and sitting down on the end of the plush and pillowed bed, Tabitha thought about the door that slammed shut and the lace curtain, in the Parlour window. "He was trying to scare me. That rat." She laughed, outwardly, but her mind was busy contesting the light in the attic.

 

Continued.


	16. Chapter 16

Karen sat down at her desk and muddled through the paperwork she had left askew, the day before. Sighing as she straightened the files and placed the correct papers and orders into the bottom drawer on the right side of her desk, she glanced back up at the chair, next to the door. Her eyes fell on the box from Virginia City and she got up to walk around and open the box. A hefty pile of old photographs and papers had shifted from one side to the other, in transit, and left a small pile of buttons, ribbons, glass and bronze door knobs as well as a few dress patterns. Picking up the pile of photos and carrying them back to her desk, she sat down as her office phone rang. "Little Box of Treasures, this is Karen. How may I help--" she paused as she was cut off by the auction house. "Yes, I have the selections all ready for you. I can bring them by, this afternoon. What time do you close?" Another pause as the man on the other end answered her and completed the call. 

Sorting through the photos in front of her while she was on the phone, she said goodbye and hung up, pausing on an old photo of several men, sitting around a table, with a gentleman, in the back sitting with a saloon girl on his lap. Flipping the small photo over to check the paper worth, she had to squint to read the names in the upper left corner. "The Dusty Glass Saloon. 1885. Virginia City, NV." Flipping the photo back over and staring at the only woman in the photo, she bit her right cheek and dug her mobile from her purse, bringing up the photo of Matthew, from the attic and zooming in on his face, she then pulled reached up to move the desk magnifier, over to enlarge the woman's face. Turning on the light, on the glass, Karen studied the woman's bone structure. She stared closely at the woman's jawline and then moved the glass over to her mobile, which from lack of attention, had gone black. Tapping the screen again, Matthew's face appeared and barely gave enough depth to study his jawline. Karen sat back and picked up the photo of the Saloon. The woman looked to be about 32 to 35 years old and held similarities to the photo of Matthew but she couldn't put a definitive stamp on it without clarifying it with Matthew. Something she wasn't looking forward to doing.

Another photo showed two men at the saloon bar. One was the tall, muscular bartender and the other was a man in a bowler hat and short blond hair and sat on a barstool. A few more photos were only sceneries of the small, twelve-street town that was the once Virginia City.

In a moment of silence, Karen jumped at the low buzz of her mobile dancing slowly across her desk as it rang. Looking at the number and seeing the Boulder area code, she picked it up. "Hello?"

"Mom?" Josh's shaky voice asked from the other end.

"Josh, honey, where are you calling from?"

Josh hesitated. "Patrick's. Can I come home?"

Karen stiffened. His tone alone sent chills down her spine. "Sure, honey. Is everything okay?" 

"Yea. I just wanna come home."

Sitting back in her chair, she turned away from the open door. "Where's your father? Why are you at Patrick's?"

Josh hesitated, again. "Dad's..... busy..... I stayed the night, last night. I just wanna come home."

Karen nodded as her heart sank from the despair in his voice. "Okay. I have an errand to run so, if his mom is willing to wait until about 4:30, I'll meet you at his house. Do you have all your things with you? Or, do we need to get them?" She knew what the word "busy" meant and was concerned for her son's safety.

"His dad is gonna come with me to get my stuff." Josh sounded more down than upset about his summer with his dad.

Standing up, Karen gathered the photos up and walked around to place them back into the box before turning back to her desk. "Is his dad home?" She turned off the light and grabbed her purse from her personal drawer, on the bottom left before turning, again, to grab the box from the chair and shut off her office light.

Josh made his way from Patrick's room to the kitchen, where Mr and Mrs Marshall Weston stood, fixing lunch. "Yea. Do you wanna talk to him?"

"No. That's fine. Just tell him I'll be there soon. Okay? I love you." Karen waited to hear his mumble of affection back before she hung up and slipped her mobile into her purse. "Julia, I have those door knobs ready for the auction house and if you don't mind, I'm going to show these items to Eleanor and Laura, before I price them. Okay?" She made her way up to the countre and stopped to get Julia's attention. "I also have to pick up my son, so, I won't be back, today."

Julia turned and smiled as she looked up from her pricing guides of antique clocks and lamps. "That's fine, dear. Is everything alright?"

Karen sighed. "Yea, he just wants to come home. Homesick." Shifting the box under her right arm, she glanced around the store. "I can be in earlier, tomorrow. If you need me?"

Smiling, Julia waved her hand at the room. "Don't worry about it. You're a good mom for keeping the most important things, first. Go on. I can handle this crowd." They shared a laugh as the one o'clock hour was considered a slow and lonely time of day.

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow morning, then. Thanks, Julia." Karen gave a weak smile and stepped towards the door.

Julia nodded and smiled back, reached down, under the desk, to grab the small wooden box of door knobs and followed Karen out to her car. 

**********

The ride home was a long and quiet one. Josh mainly stared out the window, from the front passenger seat, and only shrugged his answers when Karen offered to change the music stations to something he liked. "Did you want to talk about what happened? Why you wanted to come home?"

Another shrug. 

"Sweetie, you know your dad loves you." A glance over caught a sniffle and the sight of a tear under his eye. "Did you and Patrick have fun? Watch some movies, have some popcorn and play video games?"

Another shrug but this time it was accompanied by a word, "yea." Josh pulled his cap down, lower to cover his eyes with the bill.

Karen continued on, glancing over, every few minutes to find Josh hadn't moved from staring out the window. "We found some interesting developments about Matthew. I'm sure he and Tabby will be happy to see you, again." She tried changing the subject to lift his spirits.

"Okay." Josh sniffled again and wiped a tear away before it fell.

A short time later, the Durango pulled into the driveway and stopped beside the house. Josh sighed as he got out of the truck, pulling his backpack and suitcase out of the backseat. He trudged his way into the house and up the stairs, shutting his bedroom door behind him. Flopping down on his bed, Josh fell asleep as if he had been awake since he left for Boulder. Josh had been doing so well at his father's and having fun with his old friends, until the weekends came and Mark was back to his old vicious self. Josh was beginning to see why his mother packed he and his sister and left him for the old Victorian, in Denver. Josh kicked himself, in retrospect, for blowing up at Matthew.

***********

Josh rolled over and rubbed his eyes. His room was dark and the house was quiet. His mother had been in to check on him, several times before going to bed, herself. Plugging in a small cartoon character nightlight, next to the door, it gave off some light to let him see his way over to turn on the light, in case he awoke during the night. Hearing boards creak as the house settled, Josh stared at the ceiling before taking a deep breath and shoving himself off of his bed. He rubbed his eyes again and yawned as he made his way over to the door and carefully opened it. Poking his head out, into the hallway, Josh looked towards his mother's room and found her light was off, indicating she had gone to bed. He then looked over to the bottom of Kristy's door, expecting to find his sister had also gone to bed, but not the case. 

Kristy was awake and watching TV, while online with her friends.

Ducking back into his room, Josh grabbed a flashlight and made his way down the hall, to the attic door, waiting to turn the light on until he was far enough away from Kristy's door. Shining the light on the old bronze knob, Josh turned it and slowly opened the door. Closing it behind him and making his way up the stairs, he came to the second door and turned the knob, pushing it open. Feeling along the wall for the lightswitch, he flipped it on and stared, wide-eyed at what his mom and his sister had done to the attic, since he was away. Josh took a breath and stepped into the room.

Stepping closer to the table, where Kristy had placed some photos of Matthew's accomplishments, he stared at each photo, numbly.

"Welcome home, Joshua." Matthew stood a few feet behind the preteen and smiled as the young man turned around to look at him. The smile faded when it wasn't reciprocated. "Are you unwell?" 

Josh turned back to the photos and shrugged. 

"I see. You wish to be alone, then." Matthew bowed, sombrely.

Josh sniffled. "Matt?" There was a long pause. He turned around to see if the ghost was still standing there.

Matthew stood with his hands behind him, waiting. "Is something the matter?"

A heavy sigh as Josh nervously raised a hand to absently run it through his hair. "Can we talk? Man to man?"

"Certainly." A warm smile.

"Did you ever know your dad?" Downcasting his eyes, he felt a little nervous about asking the ghost about his personal history.

Matthew sighed and stepped closer to the table, staring down at the photo of his uncle and aunt, and then at his younger self. "No. My mother never mentioned him, at all, to me. For a long while, it was just us and nameless callers. I knew more of my stepfather than my own father."

"What was he like? Um, your stepdad." Josh turned back to the table to look where Matthew's gaze had fallen. "Did he ever..... do things with you?"

Matthew's brow furrowed and he tilted his head to look over at the young man to his left. "Has something happened, Joshua?"

Josh shrugged but didn't look up. Instead, he made his way over to sit on the bed and stare at the floor. "Not like that. Just... I mean, did he ever like play games or take you places?" His last talk with Matthew, about his past, was mainly about his school days and what the town was like. Matthew seemed reluctant to share any details about his homelife. However, Josh hoped the man might share, seeing as how he could use someone who had been through enough heartbreak to last his lifetime.

"Not exactly. He did teach me to play cards and ride a horse." Matthew turned and, in an instant, stood before Josh and eyed him with concern.

Kicking his feet at the floor, Josh looked up at Matthew. "What was your mom like? Was she nice and stuff?"

Matthew shifted uneasily. He hadn't wished to talk about his mother, to anyone that might judge her for what she was, instead of whom. He was hoping Josh would forget about the question and move on to what was really bothering him but, no such luck.

"My mom's great. But, you know that. She makes my lunch, gives me change to play video games when we get pizza, let's us do what we want during the summers. She's there if we skin our knees or have nightmares. You shoulda seen her when we moved out and came here. She was tough and hard against my dad but, a few nights, in the hotel, I heard her crying. I thought she just missed my dad, ya know? I never saw how mean he could be. Was your stepdad ever mean?" Josh wiped his arm across the bridge of his nose, wiping away the wetness in his eyes.

Matthew smiled sorrowfully. "Your mother is a wonderful woman. She does the best she can for you and your sister. You are very lucky to have her." He stiffened. "My mother was alot like yours. She would tell me stories and tuck me into bed at night. She was always there to reassure me that I was loved and good, especially when children in class were cruel." He smiled at the memory of his mother, before illness overtook her. "Thomas, my stepfather, was the opposite, mostly. My mother became ill when I was six but held on until after her birthday, four years later. Though, I am grateful he terminated her employment with the saloon, I wished he had taken her to San Francisco, for medicine and care. But, he did not." Matthew moved to sit beside Josh on the bed.

Bowing his head and staring at the floor, Josh shook his head. He took a moment and swallowed before speaking again. "I wish my dad was like you. My mom's happier that you're here. She thought we were nuts, talking about you and Tabby. Kristy thought I was nuts for hearing you, up here, the day we came here." He sniffled again. "I thought it was pretty cool, two ghosts. I finally got to prove my sister wrong. That's like, a 'not happen', ya know?"

Smiling, Matthew looked around the room. "I'm glad you are here, also." Looking back at Josh, concern deepened. "How was your visit with your father?"

Josh shrugged. "For the first week, it was okay. Then, he started spending more time at the bar. Sometimes, he wouldn't come home until late. He was drunk alot. So, I started spending the night at my friend's house. His dad's a police officer. My dad can get real mean when he's drunk." He stopped his movement and took a moment before looking up at Matthew, who listened carefully to him. "My dad's a good guy, really, when he's not drinking. He's just a jerk when he drinks." Josh yawned and sighed, returning his gaze to the floor.

"He's your father, Joshua. It's alright to love him. And, I suppose, it's alright to be upset with his downfalls. But, do not be discouraged that he doesn't love you, in return. Would you be more comfortable telling this to your mother?"

Josh only shrugged and yawned again. 

"Perhaps, you should get some sleep? You'll feel better, in the morning." Matthew smiled as Josh nodded again and stood up.

He took two steps and stopped to turn and look at Matthew, still sitting on the edge of the bed. "Just between us. Okay?" Josh gave him an embarrassed look.

"Of course. Get some rest, Joshua." Matthew watched as Josh continued back downstairs. His attention was then drawn back to the table, where Tabitha stood, watching him. 

"That was the most I've ever heard from you, about your mysterious past, Mr. Matthew Jenson. Until now, I wasn't sure you had one." She smiled and turned to glance down at the photo of young Matthew. 

Matthew was beside her in an instant and stared at the same photo. "My past is long over with. Nothing to dwell on." His tone was flat but carried a weight of sadness Tabitha couldn't help but notice. He stared at his younger, black and white face with the same sad expression and sighed.

Tabitha stared at him for a moment. "Matt, you've been running all your life from something you just can't change, doll, and it's eating at you, even after your death. You can tell us a thousand times that it doesn't matter but it does. Maybe that's why you can't remember anything about your death." She paused for a moment. "My childhood wasn't always gumdrops and lollipops, ya know? Do you know how hard it was to grow up in Milwaukee, one of four girls to two drunk bums that farmed dirt, for a living? I sang, I danced, I recited poems and plays just to get SOME attention. I taught myself to read and my oldest sister Patty taught me to write swell. I didn't know what money looked like until a certain gangster walked into my sandwich shoppe. Then, it was 'so long, Ruth. Hello, Tabby Moore, starlet!" Stretching out her arms and posing as if showing herself off, she smiled and composed herself as he raised a bored eyebrow at her. "You can be such a bore, sometimes, Matty." Rolling her eyes and sticking out her tongue, she laughed at him.

 

Continued.


	17. Chapter 17

Karen opened the door to the Elmore Jenson House and looked around the empty foyer for the hostess but found the note on the desk saying it was closed for the afternoon. She checked her watch and then turned around to look out at the front porch. When she turned back to the desk, she heard a noise come from upstairs but the objects that made the noise had been out of view. "Hello? Laura? Eleanor? It's Karen. Karen Eppley?" She called as she made her way over to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at the hallways entrance, to the right. Slowly and carefully, she stepped up, onto the first stair. "Laura?"

A noise came from a room down the hall, out of Karen's line of sight. Footsteps as the person came closer, down the hallway. "Karen! I thought I heard your voice." An older woman with a pastel purple kerchief over her salt and pepper hair, smiled and waved a gloved hand, inviting Karen up the stairs. "C'mon up. Laura and I are doing some Spring Cleaning, in the back bedrooms. We're getting the Nephew Room up to par with the rest of the house and I've been going through Roberta's room and finding all kinds of stuff there. Laura's found some old photographs so I sent her to the store to pick up some frames." She came closer to the top of the stairs as she watched Karen make her way up the stairs. 

"Matthew's room?" Karen's eyes lit up. 

Eleanor hugged Karen as she greeted her and then turned to lead her down the hallway to his room. "Yes. We're closed today and Laura's been bugging me to add more to his room but I don't have much of his things. Caitlyn said he moved out and into the house on 7th, right after completion."

Karen gave a relieved sigh and reached into her purse to take out a freezer bag of old photographs. "Now that I'm here, I have some old photos from our Reno office that I'd like you to look at. Maybe, you have some knowledge of who they are." Holding the bag in her hands, she showed Eleanor the top photo. "I think I found one of Cora, Matthew's mom, in the Saloon she worked. But, I'm not sure. Do you know the name of it, by chance?" Opening the bag and removing the top photo, she handed it to the woman who furrowed her brow as she stared at the people in the yellowed photo.

"Hmm." Staring at the woman in the middle of the photo, Eleanor bit her lip. "He took most of his things when he moved out. However, I think Elmore had one or two of his dear sister, in his study." Waving Karen back downstairs, Eleanor led her to the grand room, in the back of the house, shut off to the public. "We keep this room closed to the public due to so much of his personal and governmental papers but, before he died, he was looking through some old papers." Coming to a stop outside a mahogany double sliding door, she removed a key from her pocket and unlocked the main door before sliding the right door open. Letting Karen step into the dust-touched cluttered room and then following her in, she moved over to a solid oak desk and unlocked the bottom drawer. "This was his. Cassie had it moved here, after Angela moved out. It has a lot of his office things, still but I know there is a good photo of her, somewhere."

Karen noted Eleanor's inability to say Matthew's name but then she remembered what Laura had told her about the family refusing to mention him, after he died. It was only a few that knew Matthew wouldn't take his own life. Sighing and waiting patiently as Eleanor dug through the papers and contents of the deep file drawer, her mouth opened as she was handed a professional photo of Matthew's young mother.

"There. This is Cora Jenson. He never showed it to anyone. I don't think Angela ever saw it, either." Eleanor turned around, after shutting the drawer, and watched Karen's expression. 

Holding both photos side by side, Karen stared at both woman closely. "Similar jawline and eyes. Beautiful woman. Why didn't he have this one framed?" Looking up at the older woman as she shrugged, Karen made her way over to the desk to place the photos down, beside each other and then remove the rest of the photos from the bag. She spread out the remaining six photos to check for anymore of Cora but found none.

Eleanor sighed. "Bertie," pausing to clarify the name "Roberta, said before he moved out, he had it in a frame and always beside his bed. Charles once told me about a terrible fight between him and Elmore, about a week before his house was completed. They were yelling and screaming at one another about her and, somehow in the shuffle, the photo was dropped or thrown and the frame broke. He didn't speak to Elmore for a month, afterwards. I guess whatever was said really hurt him. Charles said he had never seen him at his angriest. Even Charles was afraid to speak to him, after that fight." Stepping closer to look at the other photos Karen had spread out, she pointed to one man. "That's Elmore. I didn't know he went to Nevada before she died."

"I thought he had dark hair. In all of the professional pictures I've seen, he did." Karen looked more closely at the man to Cora's left, in the Saloon photo.

Nodding, Eleanor elaborated. "They all died their hair back then. They thought dark hair made them look more sophisticated."

Karen hmmed. "What was the fight about? Do you know?"

Eleanor shook her head. "I don't know. Charles mentioned it was something very personal for him. I'm guessing it was about his childhood or his mother. Charles said Elmore was on the verge of calling the constable."

The front door creaked open and shut with a loud bang as the wind had picked up and swept the door out of Laura's hands. "Mom, I found three to choose from." Laura called from the foyer, holding a canvas bag of various frames, all antique, from the vintage store on the other side of town. "Mom?!" She stared up, at the top of the stairs and waited for her mother's response.

Eleanor went to the double doors and poked her head out. "Study!"

Laura made her way to the back of the house, to the room behind the grand staircase, and stepped through the doorway. "Oh. Hi, Karen. I didn't see your car, in the lot." The young woman smiled and greeted her friend.

"Hi!" Karen smiled back. "I was just showing your mom some photos of Cora and a few miscellaneous ones from Virginia City." Stepping aside to show them to Laura, she watched as the young woman focused on the photo from Matthew's desk drawer. "Apparently, this was his desk."

Laura's jaw dropped. "Did you find the box?" She turned immediately and stared at Karen, upon hearing that the desk was his. Her hopes dropped as Karen shook her head.

"What box?" Eleanor's brow furrowed.

Laura turned back to look over the desk, hidden under a mound of Elmore's paperwork. "The box of Matt's things that Uncle Charlie was looking for. We think it'll prove Matt didn't hang himself."

Eleanor gave a tired sigh. "After 112 years, I think Charles was chasing shadows. He didn't want to believe his cousin and best friend could do something like that. Laura, really."

"If we find the box, he would know what to look for to show the courts that he was murdered, mom." Laura turned to face her mother and flashed an irritated look at her mother's lack of concern. "If there's 'no box', what do you think that guy was looking for, in Matt's room? I doubt very seriously it was the bathroom."

Karen tilted her head in question. "What guy?"

"I think he was the same guy that spoke to you. Dalton something. Or something Dalton." Laura moved around her mother and started lifting the corners of the paperwork, on the desktop, and then started opening drawers to look for the box. She saved the bottom drawer on the right, for last.

Karen thought for a minute. "Dalton Kent. He came to see me at the office, a few weeks ago. He was looking over a few pieces from that era. He said his 'employer' knew the Davenports and Jensons. My guess, he's looking for the same thing we are." 

"I don't recall ever hearing about a Dalton Kent or his employer. There was a gentleman that came to the arbitrary, in.... sixty-seven but, I think he said his name was something else, not Dalton." Eleanor hummed in thought and checked her watch, after hearing the grandfather clock, in the dining room chime. She glanced down at her clothing and the sigh deepened as she realised how dusty and dirty she was from cleaning the rooms upstairs. "Oh. I've got my opening. I'm sorry, Karen. Laura, lock up when you're done. I've gotta go." Patting Laura's shoulder and then shaking Karen's hand, she hurried out of the room to get ready for her gallery showing. 

Both telling Eleanor goodbye, Karen turned to Laura, who had turned back to the desk. "How big was the box?"

Without turning around, Laura kept digging but answered her. "Well, I'm not sure but if it was from his office, it may be a small moving box or book box. Or, possibly a crate, since they were being phased out by then. Did he say where he put it, after he brought it home?"

"No."

After finding nothing of importance, Laura closed the drawer and straightened, sighing in defeat. "We can check the wardrobe. I know we moved a lot of things around, in his room, but if it's not there, it might be in his closet. That, I know, is pick-proof." She scooped up the photos and stared at the group photo, taken in the saloon. "Elmore?"

Karen nodded. "Apparently, he made a trip to Virginia City before she died."

Suddenly, a light went on in Laura's brain and she snapped her finger in acknowledgment. "I think I know where it is." Motioning for Karen to step out of the room while Laura followed and closed and locked the door behind her, she waved Karen to follow her upstairs and down the hall to Matthew's room. "Before we opened this to the public, mom and I had to rearrange his wardrobe, taking out old clothes from it and switching it with older clothes from his closet. I remember an old, old box in the back of the wardrobe, that I put on the shelf of the closet. I bet that's it. Cassandra told Charlie she had Marie give her everything that he was working on, before Matt died. Marie never gave her the box because I think she was in another room tending to the fire, when they came home. She didn't see Matt until the next morning." Laura put her purse down on the bed and pointed to the tall, imposing piece of Victorian furniture that blocked the closet door. "In here. I think we can just slide it over this way." She pointed to the window and reached around to grab the back of the wardrobe as Karen braced herself against the front, arms stretched across to grab either side and push the left side while pulling the right, working in unison as Laura pulled the heavy piece out of the way.

Both giving a sigh of relief as they had slid it away from the door, Laura flipped through the twenty something keys, on the ring, to find the one for the antique lock on the door and unlocked the door. As Laura opened the door and turned on the light, she gave a quick glance around before finding a corner of the wooden crate. "Here!" Moving a few linens that had been stacked on top of it, she bent down and slid the box out of the space. A walk-in closet that was filled with clothes and blankets and miscellaneous items. She had placed the box just inside the door, on the right, on the floor and hadn't thought twice about what was inside it as the important papers had been covered by envelopes and blank folders.

~~~~~~~~

10 March 1904  
Colorado Springs, CO

Angela sat down in a white, wrought iron chair and matching cocktail table. She ordered tea, when the waiter passed by, and then busied herself brushing the wrinkles from her pink and white taffeta dress. Her hair had been freshly curled and her elegant, wide-brimmed hat rested over top of the tight bun, on the parietal. She preferred the tables outside, as opposed to the smoke-filled room, inside the small cafe. She knew her guest would insist on lighting up a cigar but the smoke from it would not be so overwhelming to her, outside, in the afternoon air. As the waiter set down the cup of tea, he asked if she would like a menu but he was dismissed as her eyes caught sight of her guest. "Your message came late, this morning. I do hope this is important."

The man sat down with a huff and removed his cigar case from his inside pocket of his brown suit jacket. He selected one of four remaining cigars and snapped the long, gold case closed before replacing it in the same inside pocket. Snipping the tip and striking a match and lighting his cigar, he puffed and puffed, ignoring her statement. When he finished, he sighed and removed it from his lips, holding it between two fingers and rested the hand he held it in, on the table, between them. "I assure you, madam, it is of the utmost importance." He paused to see the waiter approach their table and offer him something to drink and a menu. He ordered tea and then waved the waiter away, before continuing. "I am in need of your feminine distractions for a nephew of mine. Seeing as how your father and I have worked out several prior business arrangements, I feel it is his turn to pay a loan to me." Puffing, again, on his cigar, he let her take in what he was saying.

Brow furrowing, Angela sipped at her tea and stared at the darkened slice of orange that floated on top of the hot liquid. "What would you have me do, for this nephew?" She replaced her cup to the saucer, on the table and looked up at the man, across from her. She could only imagine what this "nephew" would be like. Her eyebrow raised as he cleared his throat and shifted, in his seat.

The man sat back in his seat, his mouth twisted in thought of saying the right thing to her. "I inherited the boy at a young age, when his mother passed and since then have pushed him into schooling and employment that has come to my attention as nefarious. His employers wish him distracted with foul dealings and I do not wish to see the boy harmed, in any way. He is also without a lady companion and, unlike my eldest son, has removed himself from choosing a bride. Matthew is a well-adjusted lad but solitude is most unpleasant. Perhaps, with a woman to encourage 'other' means of keeping time, he might set himself right."

"I see." Angela sighed. "Unwell, is he?"

Elmore's expression seemed to be that of displeasure, possibly with himself. "I wish to deter his interactions with hooligans." Their eyes met and though, he wouldn't admit it, Elmore had exasperated himself with possibilities and had was therefore forced to assert other means, without seeming to do so.

Angela sighed. "What of me, should this little interaction go awry?"

Elmore didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his right jacket pocket and removed a small photograph of Matthew, standing on the University steps. Placing it on the table, in front of her, he smiled. "I am certain you will make things work, should your past come calling, again. I'll leave you to think it over."

"When shall we meet again?"

"Meet my nephew, first, dear lady. That is the direst of appointments, as of yet. We shall discuss all else later. One more thing; Matthew must never know of this correspondence. Is that understood? I trust you to be discreet, my dear girl." Tipping his hat, he stood and placed twenty-five cents on the table before walking back down the walk. He thought to himself, whilst walking away, that he had somehow done the wrong thing, for his nephew. He had known the Dowling family for years, through campaign dealings yet, hadn't brandished himself to acquaint his own family with his long-distance financier.

Sighing and sipping her tea before the waiter served a refill, she stared at Matthew's image, noting his thin, pale features of the yellowish tinted photograph. "You are handsome, sir. We shall see who you really are." Angela studied his photograph for over an hour before snapping out of her thoughts and standing up to return to her hotel suite. She spent the night tossing and turning and debating the proposition and finally being free of her ex-husband's reach.

~~~~~~~~

The doorbell chimed twice as Kristy made her way from the kitchen back up to her room, with a cup of hot cocoa. Placing the cup on the third stair and peeking out of the thin, side window, to the left of the door, her brow furrowed as she stared at the sharply dressed man that stood on the porch. Cautiously, she unlocked and opened the door a crack and peered out. "Can I help you?" She kept her body hidden behind the door, in case he decided to break his demeanour and push through the door.

The man smiled calmly and made slow, fluid motions. "My name is Dalton Kent. My employer would like to have a word with your parents, if they are at home?" He motioned to the long, black car with dark tinted windows, in front of the home that idled. His suit was that of a well-paid businessman to which his manners were equally pleasant. Turning back to look at the teen, he blinked and waited patiently for her answer.

"Um,....." Kristy stared at the limo, just passed the front walk, and snapped back to the man on the porch as he gave a hushed "ahem." Searching for the words, she hadn't known what to say or do and had hoped that her mother would drive up and rescue her from saying something stupid. "My mom will be home shortly. She had to run an errand. I could have her call your employer, when she gets home....?" she offered. Peering around the man again to find the backseat window lowered and tapping sound coming from inside, her eyes widened.

Dalton smiled again and excused himself. "One moment while I confer." He casually turned and made his way down the steps and then the walk, stopping at the lowered window. He positioned himself in front of the window so the view of the inhabitant was blocked from Kristy's line of sight. The sun was beginning to dip lower and paint the skies in gold, purples and pinks before reaching a peaceful blue. Dalton hadn't been gone long and as he turned to make his way back to Kristy, the window behind him slowly scrolled up. "My employer wishes to wait. He says it is of the utmost importance to speak with her, regarding the property."

Kristy's brow furrowed as she stole another glance at the car. Raising an eyebrow, she met eyes with Dalton again. He was taller than her by several inches and made her uncomfortable, even by standing two feet away from the door. "Um, okay."

With a gracious nod, Dalton turned and walked briskly back to the car, opening the door and sitting down on the seat before shutting the door.

Shutting the front door and locking it, Kristy peered through the side of the window as a shiver went through her. "Matt! Matth--...." She turned to find the gentleman ghost standing at the foot of the stairs, calmly watching her. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to hear the gentleman explain about the man in the car wanting to discuss about my home. I assume that was the gentleman your mother was speaking of, to Laura?" Matthew stepped closer to the window and stared out while standing behind Kristy, who had turned back to also look at the car.

Kristy's mouth twisting into question. "Was there someone else that owned your house?"

"No. I signed the deed over to my uncle, the night before I died. Only the family had this property, before construction began. My uncle bought it for eighteen cents a yard, in 1898. I bought it from him in 1900, and it was finished a year later." Calm blue eyes pierced the sliver of glass not frosted with design. He cursed the boundaries that kept him from leaving the house and surrounding porch. "Your mother is returning shortly, I assume?"

Turning back to make her way over to the stairs and retrieve her cup of cooled cocoa, Kristy answered under her breath. "Yea. I can call her on her cell. This guy gives me the creeps." Lifting the white cappuccino cup to her mouth, she sipped and blanched. "But first, a warm up." With one hand carrying the cup and the other removing her cell phone from her right back pocket of her acid washed jeans shorts, she dialed her mother's cell and listened to it ring. "Hey, um, how close are you to home?" She paused as Karen answered that they were just leaving the Elmore Jenson house and she was getting a ride from Laura, with the box of Matthew's things in tow. "Great. There's a limo out front and the guy said he wants to talk to you about the property. You wouldn't.... mind hurrying..... would you?" She paused again as Karen gave a quick answer before hanging up. "Wonderful." Pressing the "End" button, Kristy slid the cell phone back into her pocket and placed the cup into the microwave. "They're five minutes out." She announced, knowing Matthew had followed her into the kitchen and now stood just inside the doorway.

Continued.


	18. Chapter 18

Laura's Corsica pulled up behind the limousine and both women opened their doors and stepped out. Laura's brow furrowed as the well-toned driver of the limousine opened his door and a stepped out, shutting his door behind him and making his way around the passenger side door and opening it for Dalton and his elderly employer. Letting out a breath, she and Karen glanced at one another before shutting their own doors and making their way to the porch steps, where Kristy now stood.

Hurrying up the stairs and handing the box to Kristy, she whispered for the teen to put the box inside and stay with it, should anything happen and then shoved her daughter back inside before turning around to greet the three men coming up the path.

Dalton made his way up the walk and stopped at the bottom of the steps, turning to find the driver pushing the wheelchair with his elderly employer. He turned back to the women and cleared his throat. "May I present Mister Julian Preston White." He stood very tall and still alongside his employer who, although sat in a wheelchair with a dark plaid blanket draped over his legs, was dressed in a business suit and shined loafers.

White hair receded from his brow line and thinned in the back yet he still held trait to his family line in striking manner. Hazel eyes blinked up at Karen and then at Laura with not a smile but silent dominance. Julian inhaled sharply every few seconds as a small portable oxygen tank had been placed on the back of the chair with connecting airtubing for him to breathe. The clear thin tube hooked around his ears and connected under his nose, allowing him to breathe. "That will be fine, Dalton. Thank you." Holding up a frail, bony hand for the man beside him to be silent, Julian took a moment to look over the house before settling back on the three women, standing on the porch. "I am the last surviving grandson of Gerald White. I have requested to meet with the Jenson boy's family after discovery of an important matter." He looked from Laura to Karen, waiting for their introductions. A thin man and at one point in his life he stood tall, now despised the chair he was forced to sit in.

Laura and Karen exchanged glances. "I'm Laura Peters. Matthew Jenson was my grandcousin. My mother sold his house to Karen Eppley and her children. Is there something I can do for you?" Her brow furrowed as she stared the faces of the three men at the bottom of the stairs. Her first instinct was to dig out her mobile an call her mother, as Eleanor had handled the sale and kept the records of the house.

Julian gave a slow nod in understanding and reached into his left inside pocket of his suit jacket and removed a yellow envelope with the Jenson name scrawled on it. "I have tried to contact Margaret Davenport on several occasions but have not been successful. After reading of her passing, I felt I should try once again to share my information with her daughter, Eleanor. I hold in my hand," he paused to take another breath before continuing, "the deed to this property that my great grandfather and the boy's uncle signed in 1898."

"That's impossible. Elmore bought this land that year, yes but he then sold it to Matthew in 1900. Gerald White was a shyster lawyer who was just as corrupt as his partner." Laura's teeth ground at the man's untimely and absurd claim.

Karen stepped forward and came down two steps, extending a hand to the man in the chair. "I'm Karen Eppley. I have two degrees in Antiquities and one degree in Historic Documentations. May I see the deed in question?" She watched Julian's expression as he handed the envelope to Dalton, who then presented it to Karen. It was a thick and weighted envelope with a small piece of tape holding the flap closed, on the back. Turning it over, she broke the seal and pulled out several folded and aged papers, the top document being the deed to the land. She sat down on the step behind her and placed handed the rest of the tri-folded papers to Laura, to browse through while she opened the paper in her hand and examined it. She sighed as she stared at the condition and age of the paper before attempting to look at the two signatures at the bottom of the deed. "Paper looks authentic but without a sample of handwriting from both parties and extended time to further examine the document, this could be a forgery written during that time period. Although, the style of calligraphy and slant of lettering would be from around that era. Watermark style puts the paper, itself, circa 1899 when they used cylinder mould processing. But then, any history-savvy attourney would know that." She paused and glanced up at Julian. "What was your profession?"

"My great grandfather, Harrison White, Esquire, was Notary Republic in eighteen eighty-four. My grandfather sidestepped the family business to open his own law firm with Edward Deacon in eighteen ninety-three. Myself, followed in Harrison's footsteps and became Notary Republic for 63 years." Julian smiled calmly.

Laura stared at one several papers. Her jaw fell slack with awe and she gasped as she read the beautifully written letter. "Oh...." she breathed.

Karen looked over at the young woman sitting beside her. "What's the matter?"

Taking a breath and blinking, her eyes opened wide as she handed the letter to Karen. "It's a letter from Cora, to a Mr. H. M. White. It's dated June 26, 1874. She states something we might need a conference about."

Sharing the same awe as Laura, Karen was speechless. "This is her handwriting?"

"I'm fairly certain." Laura nodded.

Looking back to Julian and Dalton, Karen cleared her throat and held up the letter for them to see. "Where did you get this?"

Julian's smile widened. "Among my great grandfather's estate, those papers were apart of his private collection. Much like the young man who took his life, these papers have sat long forgotten, in my grandfather's home, until recently. Mrs. Davenport refused to acknowledge their existence as, I'm sure, the young man would not have been looked on too fondly for the contents."

"Matt didn't have anything to do with this. He was the innocent victim, here. Not to mention, if your 'great grandfather' whom you so dearly love was such the gentleman, he wouldn't have kept this nonsense a secret." Laura controlled herself and dared not move as her shaking body might have become visible. "Not to mention, he wouldn't have left Cora or her son with not a look back or even attempt to help. And, nowhere is his name even listed remotely close to Matthew's. I'm sorry, Mr. White, but unless both bodies are exhumed and DNA is proven, this man is _NOT_ related to my grandcousin."

Karen folded the papers and neatly placed them back inside the envelope before holding it out for Dalton to retrieve.

Julian held up a hand and refused acceptance of the envelope. "I have no use for those papers, anymore, young lady. Do what you wish with them."

"Why hand them to us now?" Karen placed the envelope beside her, on the step.

Again, Julian smiled. "My associate Mister Kent may answer that."

Dalton sighed inwardly and reached for his billfold that he placed in his right pants pocket. Unfolding it and removing two old photographs, he handed them to Karen, who shared them with Laura. "The woman with the little girl, I believe, is Angela Bancroft in 1913. The same little girl in the first photo is also my mother, taken with me, in 1949. Angela Bancroft would have been better known as Angela Dowling-Jenson. Before she died, my grandmother showed me a photo of she and Matthew Jenson's wedding reception. I found Mister White after researching Mister Jenson and even visited the town and places where my grandfather spent much of his time." He paused and looked over at Laura. "I apologise if our interaction, the other day, upset you. All I had was a wedding photo of him. I was looking for something more personal, of his." Collecting the two photos that Karen handed back, he tucked them back into his billfold and slipped it into his pocket.

"Well, we will leave you both to look over those papers. Dalton." Julian held up a hand to signal his driver, who stood silently behind him, to turn him around and head back to the waiting car.

From his left breast pocket of his jacket, Dalton removed and handed to Karen his business card. "If either of you have any questions, please call." He started to turn away but was stopped by Karen opening her mouth to speak. 

"Why didn't Angela tell anyone she was pregnant?" Karen stood and only glanced at Dalton's card before meeting eyes with him.

Dalton shrugged and stared at the ground between them. "I suppose she didn't want to upset the family more by imposing a child upon them. Their marriage wasn't well received, or so she said. The only one to accept their marriage, on her side of the family, was her mother. All I know of him was that he was shy and quiet and loved my grandmother dearly." Looking up at the house and smiling with soft admiration, he met eyes with them once more and nodded. "Ladies." Turning around and making his way to the waiting open passenger door, he promptly got in as the door was shut behind him.

~~~~~~~~~

Kristy ran upstairs and bolted into her room, grabbing her laptop and heading back down to the Parlour, where Karen and Laura had started spreading out old photos and papers from the box. She sat on the end of the sofa closest to the window and started it up, watching and staring at old photos they were placing on the floor. Searching for "Harrison White" took all of three minutes and a very lengthy biography page. "Harrison White, born eighteen-fifty to nineteen-twenty-four. So, he was still alive when Matt died. But, why didn't he let the family know he was--" her voice lowered to a whisper, an odd change even to her, "Matt's dad?" She looked up at her mother, who knelt on the floor, next to the fireplace, holding a photo of Angela that Matthew kept on his desk.

Laura shrugged and shook her head as she sat on the floor, across from Karen and closest to Kristy. "Probably because he was already married or maybe he did and Elmore wasn't having any shenanigans from anyone named White or Deacon."

"Unless, he did and that was what the fight between Matthew and Elmore was about." Karen stared at the photo of Angela and sighed. "Is there a picture of him?"

"Only black and white and he's pretty old, in it." Shaking her head, Kristy read on from the site she stared at. "It says here he was married in eighteen seventy and they had a son, Gerald, in eighteen seventy-two."

Laura's brow furrowed as she looked over at Karen. "What fight?"

Karen cleared her throat and placed the photo in her hand next to a photo of Matthew, sitting at his desk at work and smiling at the camera. "Your mom told me about a fight he and Elmore had before Matthew moved into this house. Neither Charles or Roberta would say what it was about. Eleanor guessed it had something to do with Cora or his childhood. I think our best guess would be to ask Matt, himself. Maybe he remembers." She knew he stood on the porch, beside them, during the visit and heard all of what was going on but when the limo pulled away from the curb, Matthew had vanished. She paused and stared at each item they had spread out. "Pictures, check stubs, newspapers." She sighed again and looked over at the box next to Laura. "Is that all that's in there?"

Picking up the box and looking into it, she found a folder wedged under the flap of the bottom of the box. "Maybe this is it?" Laura struggled momentarily with it as it had become stuck, but was able to remove the folder and open it, letting the handful of papers spill out and onto the floor, in front of her. Her mouth opened as one paper caught her eye. "Matthew?! Matt! I think we found your evidence!"

"He was right beside me, out front." Kristy looked up from her laptop and looked around the room for the absent ghost. "Tabby?"

The woman ghost appeared at the mention of her name and sat beside Kristy on the sofa. "What's all this?" She smiled and leaned forward to stare at the contents on the floor. She had watched the exchange from the Parlour window and noted the box Karen rushed to place in the foyer before meeting with the men in the limo but hadn't been so brave as to poke her nose into Matthew's business.

Kristy looked over at the woman beside her and shrugged. "I think it was the evidence Matt had against his bosses. Where is he?"

"He um, needs a moment. He'll be fine just needs to sort this out by himself."

Scoffing, Kristy shook her head in question. "Ghosts get overwhelmed? I thought that was the whole point of being a ghost; you could care less about anything, anymore."

Karen nodded in understanding. "He's finding out a lot all at once about something that could have-- should have been handled when he was alive. Ghosts are here to solve unfinished business so they can move on. We can save this for tomorrow."

Laura stared down at the papers in front of her and skimmed over the handwritten notes along the sides as well as the documents, themselves. "Only he would know what track he was on but, maybe we can try and pick up where he left off? It looks like he was on the trail of someone named 'Carter' so, that's a start. Cassie said she overheard Matt and Charles talking about odd accounts, the night before he died. Maybe this Carter person and the accounts have something to do with one another?" Staring at one paper Matthew had made several notes detailing discrepancies on, she tried to read the faded writing. "There should be a log book with receipts. Charles always said Matt was very meticulous."

"Maybe, it's in the ice cream shoppe?" Kristy peered over the top of her laptop screen and smiled.

Karen wrinkled her nose. "Ice cream. At a time like this?"

Kristy's eyes narrowed. "I mean the law firm he worked at. It's an ice cream place, now. If Cassandra and Charles didn't solve his death and it's not here or at Elmore's house, maybe whomever it was that-- you know-- took it with them?"

"What does it look like?" Tabitha asked.

Laura thought for a moment. "In those days it would have looked like a big, black book with pages of checks and then lined pages for records, in the back. Matt was the head of Accounts Payable and Receivable. If he cleaned out his desk and dumped it all in the box, it would still be here." Taking a moment to look over the scattered documents, she reached into the middle of the pile and pulled out a tall, leatherbound book with the word, "Records" etched in gold on the cover. "This book." Opening it and skimming over each page closely, she wasn't sure what she was looking for yet assumed Matthew's handwriting would point out the discrepancies. "The book starts the first of January in 1900 and go up to his death. I don't see anything out of the ordinary."

Crawling closer and sitting next to Laura so that she could look over the woman's shoulder, Karen had an idea. "Try the accounts for 1903. Don't you remember? The photo of Matthew in his blue coat. The date on the back said 1903 but the photo was taken in 1905. He told Charles he suspected something was up since 1903."

"Okay." Turning back twenty pages to the start of the year in question, Laura stared at the entries. "It would certainly help if he was here to give us some kind of clue." Frustration seeped into her voice. "Matt, please! This is no time to pout!" Laura lifted her head and yelled at the ceiling. A startled gasp from both she and Karen as Matthew stood before them, staring down at the mess of papers and photos in the middle of the Parlour floor.

His calm stare seemed almost hurt as he hadn't appreciated her tone. 

"I'm sorry. But, we can't solve this without you." Laura met his eyes and hoped he understood her determination.

Matthew nodded sombrely and knelt down to stare at the photo of Angela. "The account was named 'Carter.' I don't know if it was a person or just a name. When I asked Edward about the mysterious account, he informed me it was for a private fund and none of my concern. When I approached Gerald on the matter, he was adamant that I kept my mouth shut. No matter how many times I configured the numbers, they never came out the same. I even broached the subject with my uncle, and learned for the second time not to test his temper." He had looked up to speak to Laura and glanced at the book in her lap but when he finished, his eyes fell back to the photo of his wife, with sadness.

Karen sighed and scratched her forehead. "Okay, well, books alone aren't reason enough for murder. Someone powerful must have been behind that account." Catching his line of sight, she bit her lip and thought of a way to politely ask him about Elmore's temper. "What exactly happened, when you talked to him about the account? Did he just blow up or was he evasive?" She waited for him to answer. "Matthew?"

Looking up as he heard his name, Matthew closed his eyes and thought back to the afternoon he spoke with Elmore. "I was not able to go into detail so, I redacted the name; however, he seemed to grasp hold of what I was speaking of rather quickly. He demanded I not interfere with details that did not pertain to my occupation. Though, it was my occupation to keep the records straight. Aside from personal claims, we represented businesses and charities and a slew of properties and......" he paused as realisation came to him. "How could I be so stupid?" Shaking his head and sighing, Matthew mentally kicked and belittled himself for not thinking of the connection earlier. "We represented City Council and elected officials. That was what he wanted me to stay away from. The 1904 election meant so much to him and then his run for mayor, a year later." Silence again as he mentally worked the puzzle leading up to his death. "It wasn't long after I approached my uncle that I met Angie." Bowing and shaking his head, Matthew's eyes fell back to her black and white photograph on the floor. "Her brother came to see me the night I died."

"What did he want?" Kristy asked from the sofa.

Matthew didn't answer, only turned to look at her with sorrowful eyes.

Kristy's heart sank with realisation. "Oh." Pausing a moment and letting the silence in the room take hold, she cleared her throat and spoke up. "Well, that's it, then. Case solved. Right?"

Matthew shook his head. "He was not the man behind it. I had never met Angie's brother during our venture to Boston."

"Who do you think was behind it?" Karen asked, her voice just above a whisper.

Tabitha had been silently watching him since he had joined them and knew, even for a ghost, the evidence coming to light was too much to handle. "Um, why not a little break? Some coffee or small talk or something?" She glanced over at Karen and gave a polite smile for them to leave the subject alone.

"Of course." Karen smiled back and motioned for Kristy to help her in the kitchen.

"The letter from my mother, may I see it, please?" Matthew looked up at Laura, who busied herself with reading an article Matthew had clipped from the paper, about a fire that raced through a machinery plant and gutted the entire operation.

Laura looked up and then dug through the stack of papers, beside her, for the envelope Julian handed them. Digging through the folded papers, she picked it out and unfolded it for him to read. "I'm sure you would know if it was her handwriting or not. But, I have trouble believing anything from that family."

"Thank you." Matthew read the scribe and examined each curve of lettering and point of straight lines. "Take heart, dear cousin. The document is truth. It is my mother's penmanship." He stared at her signature, at the bottom of the page. 

Dropping her hand that held the letter, Laura was unsure what to feel. "I'm sorry, Matt. You shouldn't have found out this way. He should have been more of a parent than that."

"Or not one at all." Matt spoke sombrely.

"Yea... no. I just meant that--" Laura was hushed by Matthew holding up his hand.

Matthew smiled. "It's alright. My mother was a good parent and gave me all the love I needed, when I needed it." He paused and looked over at the laptop screen on the sofa cushion before continuing. "Harrison White was a man much like my uncle. Not a very doting man but not terribly unfriendly, either. Besides, he already had a family. My cousins were wonderful siblings and best of friends. I loved Aunt Cassie...... as well as my uncle. I do not regret my life."

"You met him? White, I mean." Kristy asked as she carefully carried the silver serving tray with three sunflower coffee cups and matching saucers into the room while Karen followed behind her with the stainless steel decanter of hot coffee. Placing the tray down on the small end table, next to where she had been sitting, she let her mother pour the coffee before handing one cup to Laura and taking her seat, comfortably curling herself onto one cushion with her laptop.

Nodding, Matthew watched the exchange. "Briefly, at a company picnic, in 1901. Gerald introduced us and, I thought nothing of it at the time but Harrison seemed to flinch and stare at me as if I were an anomaly. After that, Gerald seemed on guard with my presence."

Sighing, Laura looked about them. "So, we solved the mystery that it wasn't suicide but, how do we prove it? We can't exactly arrest anyone for a hundred-year-old murder."

"We find the person behind the name 'Carter.'" Matthew bowed his head as Tabitha rest her head on his right shoulder.

Laura looked down at the evidence from the box. "So, where do we start?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

14 April 1901  
5:15 PM

Roberta crept closer to the closed Study door where she found her older brother, Charles, standing with his back to her and right ear pressed against the door. "What's going on?" Her voice a whisper and spoken so softly that she could barely hear herself over the two men shouting at one another, from inside. Reaching up to barely touch Charles' arm, she was startled as he whipped around in amasement of who was next to him. "What are they shouting about?" Her whisper raised in volume but only slightly as she stared up at her brother. Wide hazel eyes stared at the door as a heavy vase shattered against the far wall, next to the fireplace.

"Never mind. Back to your studies." Charles listened at the door as there had been a pause in shouts after Matthew demanded Elmore answer him in regards to Elmore's sister, Cora. When he looked back, he found Roberta still standing there, staring at the polished oak door. "Bertie. This matter does not concern you. Away!" He snapped in an angry whisper.

With a huff, she scrunched her nose at him. "Mother sent me to fetch them for supper." A pause as the shouting started again. It had mainly been Matthew's voice that had risen through the cracks in the doors and over the clanking of silverware and plates as the meal was being served in the dining room. She had never been afraid of her cousin's temper however, that was quickly changing with every flare of anger she heard from her father's study. "Matthew sounds very angry. What started all of this?"

"Nothing of your concern. Tell mother we will be in shortly. Off with you." Charles physically turned his sister around and nudged her back to the dining room. As he watched her long brown hair with big red bow, holding back the sides of her hair, and her blue velvet dining dress disappear down the dark corridor and then turn right, into the dining room, he turned back and took a deep breath before grabbing hold of the door handles and pulling the sliding doors open for him to enter. "Father! Matthew! Please! Your shouts are carrying out, into the neighbourhood. I expect the Constable to knock at the door, soon." He had tried with no avail to lighten the tension between his cousin and father but only received angry looks from both of them as he stepped in and closed the door behind him.

Elmore snarled from the far left corner of the room. "Yes! Send for the Constable! I want this madman contained!" His temper boiled as he stared at the broken white porcelain on the floor. Matthew had thrown it in attempt to relieve himself of the physical abuse Elmore had used against him. Stabbing an angry finger at the young man, left panting in the high-backed chair, next to the door, they glared at one another. When Charles didn't move to send for the Constable, he stepped forward and was quickly detoured as he eldest son stepped between them and raised a yielding hand to his father.

"The press would have a field day, in the morning." Charles' tone had remained calm in contrast to the tone of the room.

Elmore growled but made no move forward. "I want that animal out of my home! He and that worthless woman are a disgrace to my good name! I want him OUT!"

Matthew sat slouched in the chair, nursing the bleeding cut on his lip when he bolted up and was also contained by Charles, who spun around to stop him from closing the gap to his uncle. "She was my mother! She was your sister! You left her in that god-forsaken town to be used and discarded like a ragdoll. If you didn't want me in your palace of glass, you should have left me there!" He screamed from over Charles' left shoulder, struggling to shove his cousin out of the way.

"I NEVER WANTED YOU IN MY HOME!" Elmore screamed back, stopping everything in its wake.

Matthew drew a ragged breath and dropped his anger as Charles turned around to stare, shocked, at his father's harsh words. "I won't burden you or your family, any longer." Glancing at his cousin as they met eyes, Matthew bowed his head and stormed out of the room, dashing up the stairs for his coat before returning to the entryway and heading for the door.

"Matt, wait! Don't leave! Please!" Charles stood in the doorway of the study and watched as his words caused Matthew to stop but not turn around as Elmore's final shout had disrupted the meal and forced the family to gather in the doorway of the dining room.

Fixing his brown suit coat and smoothing his hair back, Elmore contained himself before speaking calmly to his son. "Let him go. A night on the street will wise the boy up. Into the dining room, Charles." Making his way into the corridor and then across to where his wife and children stood, he briefly met eyes with a cross Cassandra before brushing past her and demanding the children return to their places. "Charles, Cassandra."

Stepping forward as Matthew opened the door and closed it behind him, Charles called after him. "Matt!"

Standing silently beside Cassandra, Emma stepped forward and met her husband at the door, grabbing a long gray wool coat and helping Charles into it. "Talk to him, dear. Father will forgive him in due time."

"It is not Matthew that needs to be forgiven." With a glance back to his mother, Charles took a heavy breath and hurried outside to catch up to his cousin. "Matt! Hey, Matt! Wait up!" Running on the frozen ground had proved hard and painful as the cold stung at his toes and tingled his chilled face. "Pay no mind to father, cousin. He knows not what he says and means it even less. You know he thinks the world of you." Finally reaching Matthew's side, they walked down the lamplit street together.

Matthew shook his head and wiped at the tears that formed but didn't fall. "No, Charlie. He meant it. Every word." He sniffled and glanced at the man walking next to him. "Go back inside. There's no sense at his anger being on the both of us."

Charles smirked. "It wouldn't be the first time both of us have known his wrath." A chilled breath as he fasten his coat around him. "What sparked this tense debate? You bringing your mother here?"

A nod. "I asked for a proper funeral, or a vigil, at least. He told me I was out of my mind in thinking a woman of her stature deserved it." Matthew shook his head and stared at the ground in front of him. "Sometimes, I think he wished me dead, also. I can't see to do right, Charlie. You with your wife and perfect child and I haven't either. My medical career is ashambles and I have no idea what I'm doing in this new office he's thrust me into." Kicking at a rock and shoving his hands into his pockets, he finally looked up and stared at the corner of the street, illuminated by a yellow glow of the street lamp.

"Come back home. In the morning, we'll sit down and talk this out. Please, Matt? He doesn't mean a word of it, I know it." Charles stopped and turned to face him, catching Matthew by the arm.

Bowing his head and shaking it, Matthew's voice couldn't form the words. Silence between them as he built up enough courage to speak. "The truth always comes out in anger, Charlie. He never once came to see her, when she lay in bed, dying. He never sent for either of us in the years leading up to her passing. He's belittled me for years, often to where I stood. You heard him, I deserve to be confined. However, what he's said of my mother, his sister, is unforgivable." The hurt of the words that bit into him came back like a vicious snake bite. It stung like the forgotten cut on his lip.

Charles nodded. "Of course. He is the one that should beg your forgiveness but he won't. His pride is too strong." He shivered as the chilled breeze picked up. "Come on. If you will not come home and dine, let's at least have a beer and a hot meal at the pub. Hm?" Smiling as Matthew nodded, he wrapped an arm around his cousin as they walked to the pub in town.

 

Continued.


	19. Chapter 19

Fairmount Cemetery  
3, January 1917

Placing a large bouquet of roses at the base of the small, wooden marker, Cassandra's gloved hand moved to brush the snow from the top of it. "Happy birthday, dear. I am so sorry I have not been to visit you, lately. Time on Earth is so precious. I should have told you how much you meant to this family. Now, I fear you will only hear it in death. You were always welcome in our home, Matthew. Your cousin, Nicholas, has been killed in Calais by this obscene war. He is resting just over the hill, with your grandfather and his wife. After you moved your mother here, your uncle had them brought over. Roberta is now married and has two lovely children, Margaret and Bransen Jr. and Caitlyn is finishing her studies at the Women's College, in Colorado Springs and will be home soon. Daniel and Shawn will graduate from school this year." Pulling her fur coat closer around her face, she glanced up at the deep gray sky and watched as the snow began to fall again. 

The heavy clouds seemed so low that she could almost reach up and touch one. Cassandra watched as a large and perfect snowflake drifted carefully down and landed on the top of the headstone. She sighed and patted the bundle of flowers at the base of the headstone. "Matthew, I- well, I'm afraid I won't be able to finish your theory. My time is short. May you rest well, dear. I believe we shall see each other, very soon." She gave a sad smile and stood up. With a final look and a blown kiss goodbye, she turned and made her way over to where her second son had just been laid to rest not three days before.

Emma had been waiting for Cassandra, with another boquet of roses and handed them to her mother in law. She was dressed in an elegant black silk and lace mourning dress with a black lace veil drawn over her face. "Are you alright, Mother?" Casting a glance over to the woman beside her, she watched Cassandra dab her nose with a white kerchief before kneeling and laying the roses down, in front of her son's polished pewter gravestone. 

"Yes, dear. I'm fine. Where are the children?" She stood up and looked around for the two girls she and Emma had come with.

Smiling sombrely, Emma turned back and pointed at the waiting long black car a few yards from them. "The girls were chilled and are waiting in the car with Father." She turned back to see Cassandra staring sadly at the newly planted stone and felt the irking tug of something weighing heavily on Cassandra's mind. "Come, we should get inside before the chill worsens your illness." Curly light brown hair blew in the breeze.

Cassandra sighed and placed a hand on her chest. "I'm fine, dear. This fur is plenty warm." Her eyes moved from Nicholas' name to the half-hidden name on the furthest left headstone, behind her son's. The first two letters caught her eye and her brow furrowed as she tried to remind herself where she had seen them. Stepping forward, she stubbed her toe on a snow-covered rock and caught herself using the corner of the pewter headstone to break her fall. Emma was beside her in an instant, holding her by the arm.

"We should get you inside, Mother." Emma's concern seeped into her words. After helping Cassandra regain her balance, she pulled the older woman away and led her back to the car. "This cold desert air is doing you no good."

Cassandra sat in the front passenger seat and stared out the window as Elmore pulled away from the curb. Her brow furrowed as she wondered about the two letters on the grave behind her son's and why they were so familiar. She remained quiet for the ride home and went straight to bed after arriving citing the cold had unsettled her. She had Nancy, the upstairs maid, light a fire and fluff the pillows behind her, making her comfortable as she sat and read, waiting for Elmore to come to bed.

"Nancy, would you bring me the tree chart from my wardrobe, bottom drawer, please?" She leaned against the pillowed headboard, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she waited.

Nancy had hailed from Mobile, Alabama and was the first generation to be born to her family, after slavery ended, making her about as old as Matthew would have been. A frail woman, quiet and hard-working took the job to pay her way West. After making sure Cassandra had been tucked in and warm enough, she carried out her task of searching for the folded paper of the family tree, her employer had asked for. "Is this it, Ma'am?" Clean bronze skin against light gray material and a tight bun of long black hair, Nancy was a beautiful woman of 43 but looked much younger. Closing the drawer and making her way back to the woman's bedside, she waited for an answer.

Cassandra took the offered paper and opened it, fetching her reading glasses from the nightstand and putting them on to better see the writing. "Yes. That's it. Thank you, dear." She started at the top and worked her way down the list of names, stopping on each of the names starting with "C-A." There had been three in the Jenson family line but only one caught her eye. 

"Are you feeling alright, dear?" Elmore asked as he stood in the doorway of their bedroom. 

Looking up from the paper and taking a breath as he had startled her, Cassandra cleared her throat and smiled weakly. "Yes. I'm fine. Just tired, is all."

Making his way around to her side of the bed, he dismissed Nancy for the night and waited until the maid shut the door before bending over and kissing his wife's forehead. Eyeing the paper in her lap, his brow furrowed. "What are you looking at that for?" He started unbuttoning his coat and removing it as he walked around to the davenport, by the window on his side of the bed and undressed. He kept his back to her as he changed into his long, winter pajamas and turned to see her folding the paper and placing it on her nightstand.

"Why aren't Matthew and Angela listed on the tree?" Asking as her husband finished dressing for bed and made his way over to his side of the bed and crawled under the covers Nancy had turned down for him. Cassandra removed her reading glasses and placed them on top of the folded paper on the far corner of the stand before turned back to see Elmore lie down and roll away from her. "Cora is also missing." Bringing her kerchief up to cover her mouth, she coughed and then sighed as if the notion of coughing, itself, were exhausting.

"It's an old paper, dear. I haven't had the time to keep it up. We'll discuss this in the morning. You need your rest." Turning and sitting up to kiss his wife and then turn his own bedside light off before snuggling back down, facing away from her, Elmore closed his eyes and fell asleep before she could ask another question.

~~~~~~~~

Tabitha sat on the sofa, flipping through the open photo albums and news articles, reading whatever caught her eye. The hour was somewhere in the middle of the night and she had already spent a good two hours staring at one photo in particular. Several books overlapped each other as they lay open on the coffee table, in front of her. She leaned forward and flipped through them one by one, always coming back to the same photo and looking at it from several different angles. Her brow furrowed and eyes squinted as she tried to see the two men's expressions. 

"What are you doing?" Matthew stood behind her, peering over her right shoulder. Before she could answer, he sat beside her.

Staring intently at the photo and getting close to it to scan for anomalies, Tabitha "hmmed" a moment. "I've read all of the articles from these books and looked at most of these photos but this one keeps popping up. In all the other photos of you and Elmo, he is smiling and standing closer to you. This one of you and him on the steps of....." she leaned in closer to read the school name on the building behind them, "University of Colorado, it's like neither of you want to be there. Why?" Looking up and finally turning to look at the ghost beside her, she waited patiently.

"Elmore." Matthew corrected. "My uncle and I saw things very differently after I had my mother moved here, from Virginia City."

A quizzical look came over her. "Is that where you're from?" Tabitha's mind thought back to where she had seen that same name, recently.

Matthew nodded. "A small town in the middle of nowhere. Why?"

Tabitha scratched her right temple with her index finger. "I saw that name somewhere. On a..... box or something." She stood and moved around the living room, still cluttered with photos and papers and books of the Jenson family and Matthew's life. Moving to stand in the middle of the room, where a clear patch had been, she paused and snapped her fingers in thought. "It was on a box Karen had when she brought Slugger home." She referred to Josh as "slugger" because of his constant wearing of his blue ball cap. He hadn't seemed to mind the nickname and even started using a few of her old phrases she had taught him and his sister. Turning back to see him still sitting on the sofa and staring at her as if she were mad, she sighed defeatedly. "There was a photograph in the box that Karen kept starin' at."

"Alright. So, where is it?" Blinking patiently, Matthew stared at her and waited, his interest piqued.

Tabitha shrugged and looked about herself and then the room. She spotted Karen's purse sitting on the small lampstand, next to the Parlour entrance and made her way over to it. 

Matthew was beside her in an instant. "I don't think you should do that." He watched as she began to peer inside and then cautiously poke around. Both ghosts jumped and froze as Tabitha removed and accidentally pressed a button on a fob and managed to set off the car alarm of the Durango. Matthew's hands flew to his ears and pressed them to the side of his head, trying to stop the noise. He noticed Tabitha had done the same.

Karen shot out of bed and raced down the stairs to find the entire bottom floor lights on but no sign of the two mischievious ghosts. The beeping continued as she contained herself to walk over to her purse, scooped the keys off of the floor and press the button, silencing the alarm. "What the Hell were you two doing?" She spoke out loud to break the silence of the room as she stood in the foyer and stared at the closed front door. 

"Apologies, Mrs. Eppley. We should not have touched your belongings." Matthew stood in the Parlour doorway and awaited her anger.

Reappearing and standing next to her companion ghost, Tabitha bit her lip and giggled nervously. "It was my fault actually, doll. We were looking for something."

Nodding, Karen dropped her keys back into her open purse. "In my purse?"

Tabitha pointed over to Matthew. "Well, I was looking at the photograph books and he mentioned the place where he was from. I knew I saw that name when you brought Slugger home. On a box or something and the photo you were staring at."

"Box?" Karen's tired mind was still fogged from being sound asleep to wide awake faster than she had wanted to. "Virginia City?"

"That's it." Tabitha smiled.

Karen paused a moment as she stared at Matthew's patient but confused expression. "The photo?" She sighed. "I need coffee." Making her way into the kitchen, Karen glanced at the small green numbers on the back of the stove and exhaled as she pressed the "Start" button on the coffeemaker. When she turned around, she noted they had moved to stand in the doorway of the kitchen, waiting for her. "This couldn't have waited for morning?"

Bowing his head and downcasting his eyes, Matthew nodded. "Yes, of course. We're terribly sorry to have woken you. Please, return to your sleep. This will wait a few more hours."

Wiping a hand down her face in an attmept to wake up, prior to the coffee, Karen groaned as she listened to the sadness in his voice. "No, it's okay. Just let me get some coffee and I'll find the picture. Okay?" Turning back around and fetching a clean clear blue glass cup from the cupboard to the right of the stove, she removed the decanter, stopping the drip, and pouring herself a cup of coffee before replacing the decanter to its spot to the coffee could finish dripping. She then made her way over to the refrigerator and opened the door, pulling the hazelnut creamer from the door and making her coffee drinkable before replacing the creamer to the door. Karen opened the silverware drawer and removed a teaspoon and began stirring the creamer into her coffee before turning around to see the two still standing in the doorway, patiently waiting. "Alright." She sipped at the coffee in her hands and made her way back over to where her purse sat, digging into a separate pocket and retrieving a freezer bag full of old photos. "Come on."

Karen placed the cup down on the table, in front of her, and started moving the books and papers out of the way so that she could spread the photos from the bag out, letting Tabitha sort through and find the one she was talking about. "These were all of the pictures that were in the box marked from Virginia City."

"This one!" Tabitha tapped the corner of the saloon photo that had been hiding under a few miscellaneous photos of the town.

Pulling out the photo by the corner, Karen laid it back down on top of the pile and stared at it before taking another sip of coffee. With a mouthful of warm, hazelnut-flavoured coffee, Karen "hmmed." She swallowed and tapped the woman in the photo. "I asked Eleanor for a photo of Cora and she showed me the one you had of her." She turned to look at Matthew, sitting beside her with his eyes wide and staring at the photo. "She confirmed that this lady, sitting in the middle, is Cora Jenson. And,..... this" tapping the man in the photo, next to Cora, "is your Uncle Elmore."

Matthew was silent for a long time. His eyes never left the face of his departed mother. "I forgot how beautiful she was." After a moment of composure, he looked to where Karen had pointed and nodded. "Yes. That is my uncle." A face in the background caught his eye and he leaned forward to see it better. "May I see the back of this, please?"

"Sure." Karen reached over and turned the photo over, showing him the back. "The Dusty Glass Saloon. 1885. Virginia City, NV." 

Matthew blinked at the words. "Thank you."

Karen flipped the photo back over and stared at the faces of the men in the background. "Do you know who the other men are?"

Nodding and blinking slowly, Matthew sighed and pointed to each of the men as he named them, stopping on the fair-haired man sitting at the bar. "Harrison White. This was the saloon my mother worked. We lived up the stairs, off to the left. The man to her right is Thomas, my stepfather." He tapped the chest of the second man, on the other side of Cora. "Where did you get these?"

Karen shrugged. "They were sent to my shop from our sister store in Reno. There was all kinds of trinkets and knobs and things in the box but, I thought you'd like to see these photos. Sorry, it slipped my mind until now." Reaching for her cup and taking a sip, Karen and Tabitha watched his expression as he stared at the photo and then narrowed his gaze back to his mother.

"I'm sorry, Matt." Tabitha whispered from the other side of Karen. "I heard her tell Laura that it was important and I couldn't wait for you to see your ma, again. I didn't know there'd be other people in the photo.

Reaching out to tap two fingers, one on Elmore and the other on Harrison, Karen replaced her cup to the table and took a breath. "This proves they knew each other; Elmore and Harrison. Which is good. But, we're still not any closer to finding out who this 'Carter' was and why he wanted you dead."

Again, Matthew was silent for a long moment. "How old would you say Mister White is, in that photograph?"

Karen shrugged. "About your age, I guess. Why?" A flicker caused her to turn and look in the direction where he had been sitting and found the seat void of him. After a moment, he returned with the photo of him, from the side of his bed, in the attic. As he placed the photos side by side, she looked closer at their resemblances. "There are some similarities but for more definite answers, we'd need a DNA sample from both of you to confirm."

"A what?" Matthew's brow furrowed in question.

Sitting back and remembering who she was sitting between, Karen sighed and reached for her coffee. "A DNA sample. A tuft of hair, bit of skin or drop of blood from both you and him, to prove you are related to him. Unfortunately, after over one hundred years, there wouldn't be much left of either one of you to accurately test. Science has come a long way since Holmes' day."

"You mean technology has expanded beyond the literary science?" Matthew's expression lit up. As a young man, he devoured stories of his favourite sleuth. He had one day hoped of becoming as genius as his hero, in the medical world, curing all ills and earning praise for his good measures.

Karen nodded and smiled as she glanced over at him, noting his excitement. "Yes." Turning her attention back to the two photos, she stood and walked back over to her purse to retrieve her bifocals. Removing them from the cloth case and putting them on, she took a deep breath before sitting back down and examining each photo separately and closely. "The brow line is close. We'll leave out the hair and eye colour as, well, these aren't exactly in living colour, are they? The round of the chin and the shape of the eyes and nose are pretty darn close." Clearing her throat, she turned to look at his features and smiled. "Although, you are the spittin' image of your lovely mother." Karen winked at him and gained a smile in return for her flattery.

Tabitha stared at the men in the photo. "So, none of them are named 'Carter.' Is there anyone else you can think of? Childhood enemy? Friend?" She eyed Matthew and tapped the photo of the saloon.

Thinking for a long moment, Matthew shook his head. "No. No one named Carter went to my class, when I was a boy. There was a Carson in my medical studies but he did not seem to care if anyone else existed. His sole purpose was to earn the professour's praise."

"What about family?" Tabitha shrugged, running out of ideas.

Matthew froze in place. His mouth opened slightly and he stared at the mantle of the fireplace. "Nicholas." The name rolled off his tongue as if it were a slippery gel.

"Okay." Karen acknowledged. "Nicholas who?"

"My cousin, Nicholas. He was Charlie's little brother. His middle name was Carter. He was named for my grandfather; Carter Jenson." Sighing and shaking his head, Matthew stood up. "Nicky wouldn't have done this. He had nothing to gain and, by that time, he was off to boot camp."

Karen's hopes sunk. 

~~~~~~~

17 May 1917  
Fairmont Cemetery  
12:10 PM

A large gathering fanned out, around the elegant coffin, in the middle of the semi-circle. The priest stood at the head of the long polished box and read the comforting passages that had been her favourite to listen to. Family and friends alike, dressed in black, held roses and small mementoes. Elmore stood beside the row of chairs, where Roberta and Caitlyn sat, wiping their noses and weeping softly for their departed mother. The sorrow became so overwhelming Caitlyn was almost inconsolable. She clung to her sister for support only to learn Roberta had done the same to Caitlyn.

The clouds had threatened rain, earlier in the morning and the rumbles of thunder hadn't let anyone forget the oncoming threat.

When the sermon was complete and the crowd had placed roses and trinkets on her casket and then dispersed to follow the family back to the manor house for reception, Elmore took a moment to turn around and stare in the direction of Matthew and Cora's graves. 

"Father.....?" Charles called to his father as he embraced his youngest daughter, who wrapped her arms around his waist and cried into his wool coat. He had also thought about his cousin but had never ventured out to sit vigil at the young man's grave. His father's attention to Matthew's direction struck him odd, as well.

Elmore said nothing and only waved his son away before taking small, hobbled steps towards the lonely tree that shaded the two peaceful graves, in the far corner of the grounds. His breaths became labored though he hadn't made it very far. He paused and slumped over, gasping for breath. A hand touched his left shoulder and a soft voice was at his ear. "Leave me, girl. I have business with my nephew and sister." His gray wool coat felt heavy and his dark fedora that Cassandra had fancied him in seemed to overheat his already hot and flushed system. It had taken him fifteen minutes and twice an interruption from Caitlyn but, he had made it over to where the two headstones waited.

Stopping and standing in front of the etched names, he stared at each for no less than five minutes each. "Cora Lyn,....." he cleared his throat before choking out his nephew's name, "Matthew, I hope you appreciate what I am releasing to you. She was my soul and best friend, as you were once, dear sister. She was hard-headed and a graceful beauty who never believed the world I pressed upon either of you. So, I am send you my angel. Stubbourn and willful, as you were, nephew. My Cassie was an Irish queen that loved you as her own flesh and blood. Nephew, I...." he sighed and looked up as the sun struggled to peak out from behind the dark clouds. Thunder cracked again and drew his attention away from the lone figure making his way over to where Elmore stood. Elmore's eyes narrowed as he recognised the man's half-smile and shaded eyes peering at him from under a yellow bowler hat. "I told you to stay away from me and my family. What do you want, here?"

The tall, thin, fair-haired man came to a stop beside Matthew's grave and glanced down at the stone name. "I've come to pay my respects and offer a kind word to your dearly departed wife, Cassandra." His voice was soft and warm and sounded nearly as Matthew's had. "Terrible feeling to lose a loved one," patting Matthew's headstone he added, "even one as young as your dearly departed nephew. After all these years, Elmore, you should have let me have the boy. There was clearly no room left for him, in your home. The constant reminder of what your sister was. A disgrace on your good name."

"Enough of this! How dare you stand there and demand that I did not love my own family!" Elmore's face began to redden.

The man smiled and stepped closer to hiss a low retort at the aged Jenson. "Had you have cared one ounce for this boy, he would still be alive, today, you pompous windbag!" Deep ocean blue eyes narrowed as he came nose to nose with Elmore. Gaunt face scowled in anger as his lower jaw ground his teeth painfully together in his mouth.

Elmore snarled back at the man before him. "I cared enough to say his name. A name I have not spoken aloud in seven years! You cared nothing for the child, such as you cared nothing for my sister!" His voice raised slightly as a clap of thunder boomed overhead. The clouds swirled in above them and plunged the cemetery into a dark gray. Inhaling deeply and stepping back, Elmore placed his hand over his heart and calmed himself from hysterics.

"I cared for his mother, with every breath of my being. It wasn't until I saw her face and my eyes in that young man that I learned she blessed me with a son." His own cold words bit at him and he steeled himself from staggering back after hearing them come from his own mouth. "I mourn the son I never knew while you stand over his grave and gloat. You've despised him so entirely, you forced him into your own muddled life. And now, you have taken another son away from me." Harrison White's anger seethed as his fists clenched at his sides. "I will have my property back, as well as my son's home. As well, I _will_ have your goddamned name removed from my child's headstone, if it's the last thing I accomplish on this Earth!" Meeting the man's icy stare, his gaze shifted past the shorter, more roundish man, to find a young woman making her way over to them. Glancing back to Elmore, he snarled one last retort as he took his leave before the woman came close enough to look at him. "You put him in this grave and I will not rest until you admit it."

Caitlyn stopped beside her father and placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Who was that man, father? What did he want at my cousin's grave?" She watched the man retreating and took note of his stiff and angered posture as he walked.

Groaning in pain and sighing as he glanced back down to the name on the headstone, Elmore shook his head. "A man with no business to a dead child."

"What does that mean?" Caitlyn's brow furrowed as she eyed her father, slouching over in pain. "Father? Has that man upset you? Has he said something wrong of Ma--"

Elmore snapped his head to glare at her. "Hush his name. Do not speak of the dead. Now, help your father to the car."

A wave of sadness and shame came over her but Caitlyn held her tongue and only glanced back, sorrowfully, at the two headstones under the tree as she led her ailing father away. Her mind questioned herself on who the departing man was and what had forced Elmore to be so upset. _Is he Matt's father? she wondered. Did Matt know of him? Oh, Matthew. How I wish you were here to sort this out._ She had seen the man's face before and had almost called him Matthew's name but, this man was older, more frail looking than her deceased cousin. She said nothing more of what she witnessed, only helped her ailing father into the car and drove him back to the manor for the reception. 

Continued.


	20. Chapter 20

The Stevens Hotel  
Chicago, Illinois  
25, April 1928

The music played as the guests from all over the country chatted and laughed and carried on. A good sized crowd of men and women dressed in their finest attires, complete with fake laughs and even more fake smiles. The night was dedicated to the hotel's surpassing of The Morrison Hotel, which held the previous record for world's largest hotel. The hotel had set up a lavish evening for the guests, in the Reception Room, and treated them with fabulous foods from the best chefs in the state as well as vintage wines from all over the world. The food was served on elegant bone china with highly polished, elegant silverware complete with freshly pressed cloth napkins. The room was aflutter with small conversations of the day and how beautiful the hotel had looked. 

One couple had mingled and schmoozed their way into the biggest circle of important people of the attendees. Charlie was dressed in his finest light gray suit and shined black loafers. His slicked back hair and clean shaven face gave him the appearance of a younger man. On his left arm was the very lovely and recently "retired" Tabitha Moore. She had complemented him with her own floor-length white sequined evening gown with matching high heels. Diamond-crested jewelry adorned her wrists, ears and neck and sparkled in the glittering light from overhead.

Tabitha smiled and watched the other women, in the circle, carefully. Her eyes fell on a woman that stood adjacent to her. Tabitha couldn't place her but she felt as if she knew the older woman. The couple between she and the woman excused themselves to join the others on the dance floor while Charlie and the familiar woman's husband excused themselves for a brandy and cigar in an adjoining room, reserved for men only, leaving Tabitha and the elder woman to go their own ways. Her brow furrowed as the woman's smile vanished once she was left to her vices. "Honey, are you alright?" Walking over and leaning in for the woman to hear her, she asked quietly.

The smile returned as the woman looked over at Tabitha and nodded. "Yes. I'm fine." Looking around the busy room, she glanced back at Tabitha. "Angela Bancroft. You are...?" Silver strands graced her long brown hair that had been pulled back into a hairstyle she hadn't worn in twenty years. Though, her make-up was perfect and accented her beautiful face and smile, her soft amber eyes hid the remembrance of the day. A long red velvet gown seemed to have been painted on as it fit her classically curved shape as if she hadn't aged at all.

"Well, hiya, Angie! I'm Tabby Moore. I just finished a picture with Harold Lloyd. You might have seen me?" Tabitha smiled and shook the woman's hand.

Angela's breath caught at the nickname Tabitha had called her. "I haven't been called that in years." The sparkle in her eyes dimmed and a sad smile replaced the previous polite one.

Tabitha's mouth dropped open as if realising her mistake. "Oh! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to offend ya."

Shaking her head and quickly wiping away a tear from her eye, Angela placed a hand on her chest to calm herself. "My husband used to call me 'Angie.' He left me, rather suddenly. Years ago. My second husband, Lucas, is forbidden to call me that name." Angela sighed as she thought of his face. Her hands twitched with the need to run her fingers through his soft, golden hair. She sighed and looked up to meet the other women's eyes, again. 

"You must have loved him a lot." Tabitha smiled as Angela blushed.

Nodding, Angela gave a small smile in return. "I did. Very much."

Tabitha felt sympathy for the woman and wrapped her arms around her in a gentle hug. "Where ya from, honey?" Rubbing Angela's back before slowly pulling away, she asked.

Angela bit her tongue with the answer she hadn't want to escape. After a breath to calm herself down, she answered with a hushed, "Colorado." She had said it as if she had always been there but hadn't realised she had said the wrong state until she saw Tabitha's face light up.

"I'm from there! Well, not _from_ there but I live there with my fiance. Where abouts?" Tabitha smiled as she had been so happy to finally meet a friend from the same state she hated to live in.

Angela smiled. "Denver. We live in Aspen, now."

Tabitha was overjoyed. "We just moved into this house, in Denver. It's supposed to be haunted but, I haven't seen anything. Anyways, it's down on 7th Avenue. Where were you?"

Jaw dropping but catching herself before she made it auditory, Angela composed herself before answering. She had started to speak as her husband called to her from a few feet away and walked up to interrupt their chat. "I'm sorry, dear. We need to go. It was nice meeting you, Miss Moore." Shaking the woman's hand, Angela hadn't wanted to let go and lose her only possible connection to her husband's house but she knew it was time to move on. She found herself glancing back to see Tabitha watch them leave and then, just as easily, brush it off and move on to the next person to chat with. _Oh, Matthew. I still love you with all my heart, my wonderful darling. Please forgive me. I have been a terrible wife to you. May you be at rest. Please be at rest and not trapped in that awful attic, alone with your guilt._ Keeping her prayers silent from her current husband, she remained silent for the rest of the evening, as they left the gathering and headed back to the hotel room, where she remained for the next several days, telling Lucas she felt ill.

~~~~~~~

Karen mulled over the name and number on the card. She had stared at it for a long while, forgetting everything around her. "Dalton Kent." Karen sighed. The name rolled off her tongue like a melting ice cube. Placing the card down on her desk, she turned to queue up her web browser and typed in the name Angela Dowling-Jenson in the address line. The screen went blank for a moment and then answered her search with a "Person Not Found." Karen sighed in defeat but clicked on the tab that said, "Advanced Search" and typed in Angela's full name, this time leaving off Matthew's last name. Again, the screen went blank for a minute but then came back with an information page and a 3x5" black and white photo of Mrs. Matthew Jenson with another surname of Bancroft added to the end. Clicking on the link, Karen sat back and waited for the page to load.

The page finished loading a few seconds later and gave quite a lengthy background on Matthew's late wife and Karen found herself not in any hurry to speed through it. "Angela Bancroft, nee Dowling, of the Boston, Massachusetts Dowlings was born Novembre fifth, eighteen seventy-seven to Elizabeth Ashby and Edmond Dowling II." The words spilled out in a murmur from her lips. A clutter of papers and sticky notes covered the space unused by her lime green laptop and made it difficult for her to find her small white, college-rule note pad and clear blue plastic pen for notes. Sighing as an idea struck her, Karen paused and stared at her officejet printer that sat on the other side of her office. "Why am I doing this?" She turned back to the computer screen and moved the cursor up to the small icon that contained half a dozen site icons and selected "Print." While the printer received the website information, Karen continued to read while she scrolled down. 

"Lucas Bancroft, a third generation billionaire after his grandfather discovered a rich vein of gold in the Nevada desert." Karen hmmed. "Nevada. Hm." Her scrolling continued as she skimmed his life history before stopping on a close-up photo of Angela. 

Looking closer at the photo of the woman, Karen's eye caught the small pendant Angela wore on a thin chain around her neck. A small white square, possibly an ivory tile with a small outline of a daisy. She paused a moment as the printer had just finished with printing the last of six pages, and clicked on the photo, enlarging it, right clicking it and clicking "Print." Getting out of the screen as the printer sprang to life with its new task, Karen cleared the search tray and typed in "Matthew Tyler Jenson" and pressed "Enter." The screen greeted her with two entries of her search. The first was a county clerk's office with a listing of the 1900 Census. The second was a match for the Fairmount Cemetery as well as the scanned in copy of his obituary. 

JENSON, MATTHEW TYLER  
Only son of Cora Jenson of Virginia City,   
Nevada, leaves behind a wife of six months.   
Matthew was a bookkeeper at the prestigious   
Deacon & White Law Firm for four years. He died   
Tuesday, the 25th of April. He was 30 years old.

"Well, that said a lot." Karen jumped at the sudden ringing of the telephone on her desk. Picking up the receiver, she answered. "Little Box of Treasures, this is Karen. How may I help you?" She listened to the muffled sounds on the other end before a male voice spoke. 

"Mrs. Eppley, Dalton Kent. I was wondering if you and I might meet over lunch and discuss Matthew Jenson's house."

Karen sat there, speechless. Thinking of the words to say, she took a breath and let it out slowly. "Mr. Kent, I-"

"Dalton, please."

"Dalton. I'm afraid I can't sell my home. No matter what the price. My children and I just got settled and I can't afford to sell it, right now. I'm sorry." Karen nervously picked up a pen that sat next to monitor and started clicking the button, hoping he wouldn't press the issue and force her to hang up.

Dalton was silent for a moment. "No, no. My wife and I are comfortable in my mother's cottage. But, there is something I would like to show you. Something that relates directly to my grandfather's death. There is a bistro on 45th called 'Patty's', if we might meet there in say, an hour?" He was silent again as he waited for her to answer, hoping she would say yes. In his hand, he held an envelope thick with old photographs and on his lap sat a cased projection reel, which accompanied the large projector that sat on the wooden crate, in front of him, in his reading room. "I can tell you are hesitant since our last meeting was unconventional and involved Mr. White. I can reassure you that it will just be you and I and if you permit me, my grandmother left a trunk to my mother and I. I've found some things that I would like to share with you and Mrs. Peters. That is, if you are still interested in solving his mysterious death?"

Karen sighed. "Yes. He deserves to be at rest." She hadn't realised she had said it aloud until he agreed with her. "Yes. I can meet you in an hour. I might be a few minutes behind, I have some things to finish up, first."

"Thank you, Mrs. Eppley. I look forward to seeing you then." Dalton smiled and hung up the phone to look down at the film cannister on his lap.

~~~~~~~~

City Park  
2001 Colorado Blvd.  
20 May 1901

Matthew slipped off his jacket and draped it over his left arm, tucking his hands into his pockets as he stood on the bank of the lake and watched the paddle boats go by. The afternoon had quickly passed into late afternoon and the attendants had started lighting the lamps, along the walk, even though the blushing sun had yet to be cradled by the treetops on the far end of the lake. A cool breeze picked up as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The day had been hot but not unbearable. His white suit pants and pressed white shirt beamed in the sun's fading rays.

"There you are. Edward and I have been looking all over for you. Don't tell me, you prefer the company of fish and assorted water fowl over the company of your colleagues, Matthew." Gerald smiled and walked up from behind, to stand next to Matthew and stare at a random duck pecking at the water for something to eat. Gerald stood an inch or so taller than Matthew and wore an extra ten pounds as he hadn't been the active man of his youth. A well-manicured mustache and goatee framed his thin mouth and seemed to give colour into his ashen face. Blue eyes stared down at his employee as the younger man turned to look at the man next to him.

Laughing softly, Matthew shook his head and turned back to watch the ducks peck at crusts of bread other patrons threw to them. "No, I am just taking a breather. Thinking about the past week and the coming weeks ahead. I am having trouble making sense of the books. Some money has gone missing from petty cash, a week ago, and when I reexamined them again, yesterday, I found an overage. Gerald, I have looked at the books until my eyes have crossed several times and cannot make heads or tails of it."

Gerald eyed Matthew slyly. "Well," turning to face him and slap him on the back, Gerald smiled widely, "I'm sure you've just miscounted, then. Matthew, you are looking too hard at petty cash when there are other finances to attribute your attention to. It will all sort itself out in the end." He laughed. "Your dear uncle was right, you are so persistent, aren't you?" Shaking his head, he turned more to wave a hand over the small crowd of employees and their families, behind them. "Come. There are a few ladies, I would introduce you to."

Spotting his son talking to and laughing with a fair-haired man he hadn't met yet, Harrison White made his way over to where his eldest son stood and decided to acquaint himself with the young man. "Ah, Gerald! I have been looking for you. Your wife seems anxious to find you." Coming to a stop in front of them, he looked at the young man more closely, pausing as their eyes met. His smile diminished as Matthew greeted him. "Who is this young man? I thought I've met all my son's employees." A man now in his sixties with white hair and thin-rimmed glasses now stood in front of a younger version of himself. He was tall and thin and carried himself with a regal aire. His head tilted back to look down his nose and through the bottom part of his bifocals at Matthew, giving himself a high-and-mighty appeal to those he met. A thin, white mustache graced his lip and curled up at the ends. "Will you leave me to guess, young man?"

"Matthew Jenson, our newest bookkeeper, father. He just graduated from university and has since moved back from Colorado Springs. His uncle referred Edward and I to him." Gerald smiled as he looked from a reluctant Matthew to his father and watched as they shook hands, greeting each other. "If you'll excuse me, I must see to my fragile wife." He stood there a moment as his father's gaze sparked question in him. With one last glance over to Matthew and patting the younger man on the arm, he made his way over to where his pregnant young wife and their two children now sat under a tall ash tree.

Harrison was silent for a long while, giving Matthew an uneasy feel. "Bookkeeper, hm?" He studied the man's face and gestures, scrutinising him silently. "Top of the class, were you, Matthew?" An eyebrow raised as Matthew seemed off-balance with the question.

Swallowing and exhaling as his nerves had built up after being put on the spot, Matthew took a breath and answered. "Second, actually. I had wanted to be a doctor, sir."

"A doctor." Nodding, Harrison narrowed his eyes at the young man. "A terrible illness to solve, eh?"

Matthew shied away from the question. "I had hoped to make the world a little better place, sir." Out of nervousness, he downcast his eyes and missed the older man's eyebrows knitting together, as Harrison tried to make sense of Matthew's reluctance.

"Jenson. Jenson... That name is familiar to me." Harrison changed the subject and took two steps past Matthew, stepping closer to the bank of the lake.

Sighing in relief that the elder White hadn't pressed the conversation further, Matthew turned around and stared at the man's back. "Yessir. My uncle is Elmore Jenson. He is on the City Council. He was the prominent supporter to get the street lights all electric, instead of gas to conserve for automobiles." He swallowed as the man didn't answer him nor turn around to acknowledge him.

Harrison stared out at the darkening lake, lost in his own thoughts of nearly a quarter of a century earlier. Passing through a dusty, small town on the outskirts of nowhere, his stage stopped at a saloon for its two passengers to take refuge in the dry establishment while the driver fixed the wheel. With the rain coming down in buckets, Harrison sat down at a small table to one side of the room and ordered a meal while he read his book. When he looked up, he saw the more gorgeous creature in a lace dress, coming over to talk to him. "Your mother's smile." The words were nothing more than a murmur but he hadn't realised Matthew now stood beside him and eyed him curiously.

"Sir?"

Harrison jumped at the voice beside him. Turning and smiling, Harrison shook Matthew's hand while using the other to pat Matthew's arm. "Well, welcome to the family, Matthew. I'm sure this is a decent fit, for you. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let us know." He released Matthew's hand before he wanted to and prevented himself from saying any more, as not to scare the man he had just met. Yet, he was content with the smile Matthew gave in return. With a curt nod and another, wider smile, Harrison strolled off to bid Gerald goodbye before leaving for the evening.

Matthew ran a hand through his short and slicked back hair, trying to make sense of what he had heard the man say. He heard his name being called and turned to find his second boss, Edward Deacon hailing him from the opposite end of the party. Clearing his throat and slipping on his jacket, he made his way over to where Edward stood with several lovely ladies and his equally beautiful wife. He smiled as he was introduced to them and made small talk for the rest of the evening before finally bidding good night and hailing a coach to return him home.

 

Continued.


	21. Chapter 21

Karen sat down in a booth along the left wall of the bistro and sipped a Sprite from a tall red plastic cup as she waited for Dalton to arrive. She knew she was a little late but he had been even later. Checking her watch again, she was about ready to give up and leave when the door opened and the elder man walked in. Smiling as she held up her hand and waved to him, as the small business had been slightly full for a lunchtime rush. She told Julia that she would take an hour lunch and that she was meeting someone but she had been unsure of why she was meeting him. "I thought I was at the wrong bistro, for a moment." She smiled as he sat down.

"I apologise for being late. I had something come up. My employer has been moved to hospice and I was needed to sign the legalities." Dalton slid in a little further, to the booth and placed a thick manilla envelope on the table. Once composing himself, he ordered an iced tea with lemon from the waitress as she made her way to the table and then glanced at the menu, on the table, in front of him. He waited for the waitress to leave before looking up at Karen.

Her mouth opened slightly with the news. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is he alright?"

Dalton smiled politely and thanked her. "He is an old man with an older habit of smoking for too many years. Now," opening the envelope, he pulled out a stack of photos and letters his mother had collected over the years and saved for him before she passed, thirty years prior, "some of these are of people I do not know and some have names and dates on them. To rest yours and Mrs. Peters' minds, this is a letter from Mrs. Elmore Jenson to my grandmother, Angela Bancroft. It's dated nineteen-oh-eight." Handing Karen the flimsy folded letter, he watched as she opened it carefully and skimmed the contents. "Mrs. Jenson mentioned she was thankful for remaining a confident to Angela, even after her husband removed her from my grandfather's home. Mother told me Mrs. Jenson was also welcome for tea on rare occasions she was able to get away." He paused as Karen read the letter's end. "I have visited the Elmore Jenson house many times and have even made it to sit in his room. From the photo displayed, he looked rather young. Angela told me once, I was his spitting image." His eyes dimmed as she carefully folded and handed the letter back to him. "She loved Lucas but, her heart belonged to Matthew."

Karen smiled at the admission. "He was young when he passed. I can also see how she would say that about Matthew. From what I've heard of him, he was a sweet, caring young man. And, he really loved her, too. But, Mr. Kent, what does all this have to do with me? I just live in the house. Laura and her mom are who you should be talking to."

Taking a deep breath, Dalton reached into the envelope and removed a bagged pipe and a bagged, small, oval-shaped silver locket with an amber diamond on the front. "When we spoke on the front steps of your home, the young lady stated that samples were needed of both Matthew Jenson and Harrison White, to prove relation. Well, this is not Harrison White's pipe but it is Gerald's. The locket was my grandmother's; Angela's. Inside, is a photo of Matthew, along with a clipping of hair. His hair, to be exact. Before he was buried, Angela had the mortician clip his hair and save it for her. I would like to put to rest the quarrel of Matthew Jenson and Gerald White being brothers." He handed the bagged locket to her and stared at it for a moment before continuing. "I asked you here because I did reach out to the young lady's mother, when she was not available, and was promptly told that the family has put his things and past business to rest and moved on. I could only assume that went for Mrs. Peters as well. I have brought these photos and letters to show you, as you have stated that you work in authentication. I would like to know if my grandfather is, in fact, Matthew Jenson."

Karen weighed what Dalton said. "Why is this small fact so important to you? Matthew died with no estate to give. He signed over the house to Elmore as collateral because he had no heir to produce to keep it in the family. Property taxes were going up and Matthew couldn't afford it alone. His death was an unfortunate circumstance. In the evidence that we found, he suspected his employers of embezzlement and dealing with the mob and used his own money to pay off the irate employees with bouncing checks." Folding her arms and placing them on the table, in front of her, she blinked and turned to see the waitress come back to take their orders. When the waitress left with their lunch orders, Karen had a thought. "Are you really so sure Lucas Bancroft is not your biological grandfather? He would have more to give, being an oil tycoon. Matthew was just the son of a saloon girl from Virginia City."

"Angela was already pregnant by the time she married Lucas Bancroft." Dalton sat back and scratched a spot just above his right eyebrow. "Do you know why Matthew had his mother's grave transplanted here; to Fairmount Cemetery, in particular? At the turn of the century, grave robbers had sprung up, in Nevada. He moved her grave to that cemetery because the police station was down the street. Matthew never told a soul what the real reason was, only that it was her birthday and he wanted her close by. Beat officers would walk up and down that very street Matthew and Cora's graves overlook. With the addition of electricity, the street next to and their graves, was illuminated at night, deterring thieves. He paid very handsomely to have her grave unearthed and brought here, for no just cause. Since his death, Matthew's story has piqued curiosity in the hearts and minds of treasure hunters who care nothing for the remains of my grandfather or his mother. Even Lucas Bancroft had tried to use my mother as a pawn to gain Harrison White's estate, as well as your house; Matthew's house."

Brow furrowing, Karen cocked her head to the side. "Alright, I'm lost. What treasure?"

Opening his mouth to speak, Dalton quickly hushed as the waitress brought their lunch and didn't speak until she left. "A lot of people believed his death had something to do with the election of 1904. The election of 1904 was not supposed to turn out the way it did, not even the mayoral election that won Elmore Jenson his seat. Harrison White had extensive pull, in this town, in those days. Elmore Jenson was merely a helping hand while Harrison White held the ears of the state's courts and county lawmakers. Between my grandmother, her father, Harrison and Gerald White, as well as Edward Deacon and Elmore Jenson, the mystery of Matthew's death and what was buried with him could bring this town to its knees. Don't you see? The Irish mob had a hold on this town and I believe that Matthew was the lynch pin to bringing everything down. That is what is so important."

"So thats why you want to do this? To prove you are Matthew's grandson so that, when and if the will is found, you can collect Harrison White's estate? The very same estate you claim was signed over to Matthew, a man who never knew about Mister White being his father? Forget the fact that Matthew was a human being in need of a loving family, only to gain monetary reward? Mister Kent, you are missing the point of what Laura and I are trying to do, here." Karen contained her anger. She was upset that he would suggest such a thing for his own gain but, in the same silly sense, wanted to know if Matthew was in fact related to Harrison and Gerald White.

Dalton didn't answer. Instead, he shifted to remove his billfold from his back right pocket of his tan khakis and opened it to remove an old, 3x5 photo of a 30-year-old Dalton Tyler Kent and placed it on the table. The young photoed Dalton stood beside his mother's '59 Chevy with his right elbow on the hood of the car. "This is me at thirty years old." Rifling through the pile of photos, he slid out the same photo he had mentioned, prior; the wedding photo of Matthew and Angela Jenson. "My grandfather at twenty-nine." Placing them next to each other, he waited for her to study them.

Leaning over to examine both men in the photos, Karen's eyes widened. "This is you? Not some photo manipulation of Matthew?"

"That is me on the right, yes. This photo," tapping the corner, he continued, "was taken in front of Elmore Jenson's mansion. That very same day, I met and spoke to a Charles Jenson who accosted me with impersonating his departed cousin. That very evening, I asked my mother to see the photo Angela had shown me when I was a child. Anyway, I took this photo because I had just graduated from medical school. The very same medical school Matthew Tyler Jenson attended, in 1897. When I tried to approach Charles again, he refused to hear me and placed a restraining order on me and my family from speaking to him and his." Dalton took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it carefully, letting the information sink in to Karen for the conversation continued.

"The hair and eye colour are a formality, yes, but I believe Matthew and I could have passed for twins, back then. My mother told me, I had my grandfather's face and my grandmother's eyes. It wasn't until I saw this wedding photo that I understood." He took a breath and released it. "Ask yourself this, 'why was Matthew written out of conscious thought?' or, 'why did Elmore have such a terrible hold on the family for even speaking his name'? The answer is simple, Elmore was afraid of what the young man knew. That is why Matthew Jenson was murdered." Dalton tapped his finger on the wedding photo as he spoke.

Karen's interest lit up as he mentioned "murdered" instead of the popular answer that had floated around town for the past one hundred years. "Murdered. Not Suicide. You believe that?"

Smiling, Dalton picked up the photo of Matthew and Angela and looked at it. "In 1914, Cassandra stopped by my grandmother's home for a cup of tea. At the time, Angela was alone while her husband was touring the country on business. The date was April 25th, the anniversary of his death. My mother being eight-years-old at the time, sat next to her mother while they dined and chatted about Matthew. Mother recalled that Cassandra had compiled a list of possible suspects; Gerald White and Edward Deacon and, dare I say, her own husband, being three. She believed the only reason Matthew was invited to come live with them was because Elmore had ulteriour motives for him. A few years ago, I recreated a few of his experiments in medicine, using the very same type of equipment he used. He was not a failure as Elmore had him believe but, could have been the next doctor to be on the right track of curing Polio or Tuberculosis." 

Karen didn't answer. She wasn't hungry anymore. Checking her watch, she cleared her throat and called the waitress over for a To-Go box and the bill. "Well, I uh, I need to think about this, Mister Kent."

"Dalton, please."

"Mister Kent. This is all very interesting and the photos are great but, all I have is your word. They can't talk for themselves. Not to mention, Matthew, murdered over an election? There has to be something more to the story than just that. Laura and I have been working to give Matthew an absolution so that he can finally rest in peace." Thanking the waitress for bringing the bill with the box, Karen paid for their lunches and began boxing up her sandwich. "I have to get back to work but, I will let you know when the results are ready. Okay?" Closing the lid to the box and scooping up the two bags and dumping them into her purse, she glanced down at a close-up photo of Angela, looking off to the side, with her hair pulled back and a smile on her lips. "You do look like her... and, Matthew, I suppose. I will let you know. Thank you for lunch. Have a good day." She smiled up at him and slid out of the booth, hurrying for the door before he spoke again.

~~~~~~~~~

The front door swung open and promptly slammed shut as Kristy raced inside to run upstairs and into her room, slamming the door behind her. Throwing herself onto her bed, she sobbed into her pillow. School had started three weeks prior and since, she and Paul were thrust into the complexities of their relationship. At the start of the year, she was excited to see him in three of her classes, now it seemed it was a treat she could do without. Sniffling and using the corner of her pink pillowcase to wipe her eyes, she lifted her head and turned to look back to the closed door. "What do you want?"

"Is everything alright, Kristen?" Matthew stood in front of the door and asked with concern. He had come down from the attic upon hearing the door slam and hurried footsteps up the stairs. After pausing at her door and hearing her sobs, he softly stepped in and waited to be noticed. As much as she tried to wipe away the tears, he could see something was wrong. "May I come in?"

Sniffling and turning away from him, Kristy used her free hand to wipe at her cheeks, hoping he hadn't seen. "You're already in." With an arm stretched around her pillow, she hugged it and kept her face turned away from him. "What do you want? Come to laugh at me, too?" Her voice was deeper due to her stuffed nose and her breath came short from sobbing uncontrollably all the way home. She had draped herself over the side of her bed, letting her tennis shoes hang off. Her yellow shirt was still damp in parts from the two large sodas she had spilled in effort to break free from Paul's unwanted advances.

Matthew looked confused. "Is someone laughing at you?" He was never one to enjoy a woman's tears, especially when they came from an unhappy moment. He wanted to step forward but reminded himself to give her space, in case she hadn't wanted him to stay. "I apologise for your tears, Kristen. A woman should never cry in sadness." Hearing the soft sobs start again, Matthew turned to leave when he was stopped.

A sniffle as Kristy turned to look at his back. "Matt?"

"Yes?" Matthew turned back, waiting.

Kristy sniffled again and pushed herself to her knees, turning and sitting on the bed. "Why don't boys know the meaning of 'no'? Why do they have to be such jerks?" Reaching for a tissue from a small square, pink box, she wiped her nose and sniffled again. "Were they like that, back then, too? Were you?" Another wipe at her runny nose before she looked up at him.

Matthew shifted. "A lot were, yes. My cousin, Nicky, had a hard time with the word, in his youth. As for myself, I um,..." he shifted again out of unease. "When I was a boy, my mother told me to 'always be a gentleman' and that, 'women were not play things to be mistreated.' I had spent my life, up until I died, trying to do my mother proud. I hadn't wanted to ever force a woman into such unpleasantries, unless they offered." He sighed and felt as though he wasn't helping at all. Hanging his head and kneeling beside the bed, he debated on telling her what he had never told anyone. "Before I came to Denver, I lived in a saloon brothel. There were countless men of all types, constantly knocking at the doors of.... Men will act how they see fit, to achieve what they want. I've seen my mother beaten, forced, drug by her hair or arms or legs, to satisfy a man's lust even though, she refused. Several callers were pleasant to her. But, there were those that believed being fierce and disrespectful with a woman, made him a man. On several occasions, I was not allowed to visit my mother, until she healed from her assault." Bowing his head in shame, he raised a hand to touch his left cheek. "The only time I had ever forced myself on my wife, she showed me the error of that." 

"Why would you do that?"

Continuing to stare at the floor, Matthew offered no remorse. "In those days, after a woman becomes a wife, she was expected to be with child, soon after. For Angela, I waited nearly ten days after our vows." Raising his head and looking up, into her moist brown eyes and seeing the tear-stained cheeks, Matthew wished he could take the hurt away. "Your prince will come for you, Kristen. And, he will wait, until you are ready."

Giving him a nod and a smile, Kristy brushed her hair behind her ears and wiped her eyes. 

Matthew glanced at the clock, on her bedside table and then looked back to her. "It's late. Rest, Kristen. You will feel much better in the morning." He smiled and stood up, turning again to leave.

Kristy bit the side of her lower lip and called to him, again. "Matt?"

Turning and giving a soft smile, Matthew paused. "Yes?"

Sighing, Kristy smiled. "I know you would have been an awesome dad. I'm sorry things didn't work out, like they should have. If it's okay with you, can I think of you as my dad?"

Matthew froze, taken aback by the offer. Smiling in return, he bowed. "I would be honoured to have you as a daughter, Kristen. Thank you. Time for rest."

~~~~~~~~~

8 March 1906

Elmore strolled down 5th Avenue and paused to shake hands with several of his prestigious neighbours he happened upon, out walking with their wives and young children. He had stopped several times along the way, shaking hands with the men, tipping his hat to the ladies and smiling at the children but changed course as his eye caught sight of a familiar face, coming towards him in a rather hurried fashion. As the woman came closer to him, Elmore decided crossed the street and ignored her calling to him. His open smile had vanished as he could hear her shoes tapping on the pavement behind him as she had crossed over, too. Pulling his brown wool coat closer around him, he huffed and abruptly stopped and turned around to find her within a few steps from him. Taking a breath and letting it out through gritted teeth, Elmore clenched his fists. "We have nothing more to discuss, Angela. Off with you, or shall I involve the constable?"

Angela came to a stop a foot away from him and scowled. "Don't you dare threaten me, Elmore! For two years you have put me through the most terrible of upsets. I could only imagine what you've done to my dear, departed husband!" She stamped her foot, letting the heel of her black shoe crash down on the clean pavement with a loud clack.

"You were a mere convenience for him, silly woman. What he saw in you baffles the most learned of men." Elmore snarled.

Hurt washed over her. She wanted to cry but something inside her told her not to show the pain he had caused. A tremble shivered through her as she composed herself before speaking. "He was a lovely young man. Charming, sweet, caring and smart, much more than you gave him credit for. Also, dear Uncle Elmore, he did solve your dilemma. However, do not forget that it was you whom pushed me into his life. You, stubbourn old man, whom couldn't be bothered to listen to your own nephew when he needed you most. I might have failed him as a wife, yes but you, sir, have failed him as a family. You would not even be so kind as to grieve for his loss." Angela bit her lip and held her breath as he stepped forward.

"I gave him more than his brothel-living whore of a mother ever did." Elmore lowered his voice but not his anger. "In that respect, dear Angela, I loved my nephew, even if he was somewhat melancholy at times. In his last order of business, he signed the house over to me. Which, in fact, gave me control of whom to have living in _his_ house. I bought it for him, I owned the land it was build on and I owned him. I merely included you as a favour to your father, after that mess with a certain Mister Sizemore of Allentown." He smiled smugly as fear registered on her face. "The boy was not supposed to get this far involved. Plans have been ruined on account of him. Perhaps, it was best for him to take to the rope." He paused as her lips parted in shock. "My family is clean from the riff-raff. Now, if you will excuse me, I am due at home, with my family." Turning again, he cleared his throat and continued on, down the pavement as if the conversation hadn't taken place.

Deacon & White Law Firm

"I am terribly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Jenson. Matthew was... like a brother to us all." Edward smiled and patted her arm before guiding her to the door of his office. The older man gave a comforting smile as they met eyes but let it fade as she turned for the door. Glancing back at his partner, who now stood and made his way around the desk she had sat in front of, slipped a knowing look to him before turning back to guide the woman out, into the outer office.

Angela held her breath as she paused to look over to the desk where Matthew had once sat, smiling politely at the plump man with thick glasses that now took his place. "It's Mrs. Bancroft, now." She swallowed hard as if the new name placed a bitter taste in her mouth. It was still too early to move on but she was not graced with time to mourn. She took a step but stopped to turn back to the two men in the doorway. "Thank you, Mr. White, Mr. Deacon. Matthew enjoyed his time here, with you."

Stepping past his partner and taking her gloved hand in his, Gerald leant in closely and kept his voice low. "I am sorry, dear Angela. Perhaps, if circumstances were different, Matthew would still be with us. If there is -anything- we can do for you, please, call on us." He smiled and patted her hand before releasing it, giving Edward a casual knowing glance to the side before turning back to where she stood.

"Thank you." Angela nodded and tucked the personal cheque they had written her into her small purple velvet purse, she turned back to the door, once more and walked down the narrow aisle to the street. She paused again as she stared at the chair she had sat in, on their first meeting and what a gentleman Matthew had been. With a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out, closing the door, behind her. Glancing to the left, she stared at a pavement advert for Lillian's Hat Shoppe and smiled as she stepped over to it.

"Taking a waltz down memory lane, I see." Charles stood behind her and contained his anger as the shocked woman in purple velvet spun around to stare at him. "Rejoicing with your co-conspirators over the demise of my cousin, your faithful husband, were you? Tell me, Angela, how do you sleep at night knowing my cousin is dead and you still walk free?"

Angela made quick glances around for any prying eyes before whispering to the man that now stepped closer. "Keep your voice down, Charles. Someone might hear."

Charles grabbed her arms and pulled her close to him, gruffly. "You will tell me, woman!"

Screaming in pain, Angela shoved him away, freeing herself from his grip. "Unhand me!" She took a ragged breath and placed a shaky hand to her mouth. "This is not celebration. I loved my husband." The sudden and tense movement had caused pain in her tender stomach and she swallowed back the bile that rose up in her throat. Closing her eyes and placing a hand on her stomach, Angela waited for the pain to lessen before opening her eyes and staring at an angry Charles Jenson. "Fancy a stroll, Charles? Please?" Pulling at the material of her velvet coat that, no matter the slightly larger size, seemed too small. The belted waist was loosened just enough that it hid the baby weight that had taken its time in falling off. Her coat came down to just below mid-thigh, with fox fur lining the bottom hem and big black buttons running down the front.

Letting out a deep sigh, Charles extended his hand to direct her away from Deacon and White and down the street to the park. He had detested her marrying Matthew, since meeting her but knew that his cousin loved her and felt he owed it to Matthew to give her a chance. Keeping his notice of her, he remained quiet of the similarities between Angela and his wife's physicalities. "My civility extends only so far, Angela." He had waited for her to begin to explain herself as they walked past the shoppes and newsboys. It was a quiet day and he had few things to do in town yet, found himself standing outside the old law firm where Matthew had worked, when he saw her emerge from the building. Since the funeral, he hadn't seen or spoken to her and hadn't really cared to ever entertain conversation with her, again.

"Please, Charles. Let's not continue this feud. He was your cousin and friend but he was my heart and soul." Angela walked along side of him, every now and then glancing over at the taller man. Several minutes passed before she found the words to say yet, found herself second-guessing every single word. "On our wedding night, I half expected Matthew to end the charade of pleasantries and accost me with brute force. However, he didn't. He was the same gentleman that escorted me home and carried my shopping up to my doorstep, without a want of payment, when we first met. There were nights, I would lie awake and watch him sleep so restlessly and there was nothing I could do. He made himself ill over what to do, that wouldn't anger your father. But no matter what he tried, there was nothing he could have done to sate Elmore's wrath. It took a lot from him, Charles. He loved your family but felt hardly anything in return."

Charles grew more and more angered with her words. "My family loved him and he knew it. You do not know of what you speak, woman." He shoved his black gloved hands into the pockets of his long, brown wool coat as a chilled wind swept by.

Angela stopped and turned to look at him. "What of Elmore? What of the nights of being guests in your father's home and him agonising over every moment that passed, with him? You didn't see him on the carriage rides home. You didn't feel the tension in his shoulders after your father reduced him to a mere a child over something that was out of his hands. And now, neither of us will know what precise moment he thought of that terrible day. Your father wanted to send him away, to an asylum for parentless youth. To lock him away for not complying with normality. I was his wife, yes, but you were his blood and still, you did nothing to ease his despair. For that, his..." Angela cut herself off and turned away from his inquisitive stare. "He wanted to join in your work, Charles. For once, he relaxed. When we returned home," she turned and started walking again, unable to take his gaze any longer, "something changed and we had a terrible fight. I hit him so horribly hard that I thought...." She took a breath and remembered who her company was.

Walking beside her and listening to her rambles, Charles thought back to the night Elmore and Matthew had fought, causing his cousin to storm out of the house. Slipping his hand out of his pocket and taking her by the elbow, he halted them and turned her to face him. "You may have grown to love him but I know there was other forces pushing you to him. Tell me, how much did Gerald White and Edward Deacon pay you to tie my cousin in knots with your foolishness?"

Her brow furrowed as she slipped out of his grasp. "You think they put me up to it? No." Angela shook her head. "No, it was not them. Although, I will admit, Gerald White was whom I was supposed to meet, that day. But, I ran late at Lillian's and ended up in Matthew's company sooner than I had expected. The daguerreotype of him did no justice. And, there was no 'growing to love' him. I loved him from when first our eyes met." They continued to walk along the pavement, arriving at the corner and crossing whilst a steam-powered car waited for them.

 _Daguerreotype._ "Where did you get the daguerreotype of him?" Charles had heard nothing more of what she said after that particular word. Stopping her again by grabbing her arm, he emphasized. "Answer me." The only daguerreotype he knew of Matthew was the one Cassandra kept in her box of photographs, under her and her husband's bed.

"I am guilty no matter what I say. If it really mattered to you, you would stop this incessant brow-beating between us and listen to what I am telling you. I did not murder my husband. I do not know who did or why. Please, do not blame me for this. And, if you loved your cousin so much, why have you not said his name?" Angela spoke with controlled tone as they stepped up, onto the curb and continued on. "Nearly a year since his death but all you seem worried about is pointing the blame at me. Say his name, Charles. Or, your anger towards me is just foolish nonsense."

Charles stopped. "Did... Matthew know about this rouse? Or, did you flaunt your game in his face?" The question stung not only his intended target but himself as well. Yet, it was a question he had wondered for some time.

Angela stopped a few paces ahead of him and quickly turned around to close the gap before slapping his left cheek, harshly. "Ask that of your father." Scowling and feeling as though she made no headway in talking to him, she turned again and continued walking, leaving him to touch the spot where her hand had struck and watch her storm off. Turning the next corner, to the left and stopping to brace herself against the closest wall, her hand flew to her mouth as the trembles started. Shortly after that, tears fell in lines down her ashen cheeks. She sobbed for a moment, then gathered herself and hurried off before he could follow her and demand an answer or apology.

Within ten minutes, she found herself at the gates of the cemetery and stared up at the cold, wrought iron sign above. Leveling her gaze, she made her way down the long, winding path, to the back of the grounds and stepped onto the grass and over to the leafless tree, standing next to Matthew and Cora's graves. Crumpling to the ground, in front of the cold stone, she sobbed and cried, "I love you, Matthew! Come back to me!" Angela fell forward and rest her forehead on her arms as she sobbed freely. 

Continued.


	22. Chapter 22

Walking home from school and taking the long way to do it, she had found herself next to Fairmount Cemetery and glanced up, looking over at the rows of cold stone. She stood at the entry and held onto the iron bar of the tall wrought iron gate and let her eyes wander to the far ends of the yard. Panning the ground from left to right, she found the tall tree that stood alone and shaded Matthew's grave. Sweeping her gaze back to left, she found a cluster of headstones, not too far from the edge of the curved path and made her way around to to them, eyes quickly sweeping the names on each other the stones she passed. The paved black path curved wide around the majority of the citizens long gone and finally split into another, less winding road to a private section of the grounds. "The Jensons. Nicholas, Amelia, Carter, Elmore and Cassandra." Fanning out from the small group of names she had listed, she stepped between the front row to find Charles and his wife, Emma as well as William, who passed at just eight years old. Movement had caught her eye and caused her to look over toward the opposite end of the grounds. A shadowy figure crouched down in front of what looked like Matthew's grave. "Laura?" 

Fall and the approaching winter had changed the ground to a yellowish grass and tan dirt under scattered piles of dead yellow and orange leaves. The crouching figure became more clear as she made her way closer. "Laura?" She called to the figure in a long black dress that paid her no attention. Kristy's feet crunched the curled foliage that fell only that morning, as she made her way through the remote cemetery to the far end and stopped at the two graves under the tall Emerald Ash. The figure had disappeared and left her with only a shadow of a branch that dropped low, as if to break off and fall to the hard ground. Taking a breath and looking up at the tree, she felt a sudden chill race through her and looked around the area for other cemetery patrons. Kristy found herself alone and sighed as she looked down at the worn carved name on the headstone. "Hello?" An eerie silence fell around her. No birds sang or wind rustled the branches, not even passing cars made a sound. "Hm."

"He is not at rest." A feminine voice came from behind Kristy. A woman that stood tall and dark, shrouded in black mourning dress and veil. 

The world seemed to pause around Kristy. An edgy breath as she turned to see who had spoken to her. "How do you know?" Trying unsuccessfully to see the face behind the dark veil, Kristy had to guess at the woman, without frightening a possible lead. "Did you know him?" Mentally, she was going over the women in the photos of Matthew's family and tried to fit them into the image she saw before her.

The woman bowed her head as she looked down at his name. "Oh yes." A smile and a hushed sigh adorned her thin lips. "For only a short while but we loved a lifetime." The woman stood several feet behind Kristy and kept her hands clasped together, inside a warm black fur muff, in front of her. The hat on her head was wide-brimmed and draped the veil over it, never letting it touch her face. Her voice was soft and graceful with a hint of Eastern quality to it. Her frame was slendre but never moved for Kristy to get a clear picture.

Kristy dared not to step forward or ask the woman's name but curiosity was quickly consuming her. Cora? Angela? "What was he like?" Adjusting her backpack on her right shoulder, she hoped to have some clue as to the woman's identity.

"He was the love of my life, gentle and kind. I didn't want to live without him." The woman fell silent as if thinking. "Tell him I am waiting for him."

Kristy sprang forward, determined to keep the woman there for a little longer. "Wait! Who are you?" Reaching out to grab the vacant air as the woman disappeared, Kristy's hopes were crushed. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Deacon and White Law Offices  
5 April 1905  
8:15 PM

Matthew sat at his desk and stared closely at three different ledgers that he had spread out side by side, each book opened to the day's date for the year before. Shaking his head and staring at the current year's page, he knew his findings weren't adding up right. Night had fallen long ago and the only light on was the small lamp, on his desk. "This makes no sense." He sighed and sat back, staring at the numbers on the bright, white page. Matthew turned his head as he heard the lock on the door turn and then the door opened.

"Rather late for you to be here, Matthew." Edward Deacon's voice called to Matthew as he turned to close the door and lock it behind him. "I would have thought you left hours ago." He turned again and made his way over to where Matthew sat and glanced down at the open books on the man's desk. Raising an eyebrow, his mood darkened. Glaring down at his employee as he stood at the left corner of the desk and seeing the inconsistencies of the pages jump out at him as if wagging their finger at his misuse, Edward took a long breath and calmed himself before letting Matthew's assumptions get the better of him. A tuft of orange hair caught the light and glistened as he stood over it. A trimmed mustache and beard framed his mouth and again the orange in his hair glistened as it caught the lamplight.

Looking up, over the glare of the lamp that sat on the far left corner of his desk, Matthew blinked at his employer. "I have been trying to balance the books, Edward. They don't make sense. Look," he pointed to two separate inconsistencies in the current ledger and started to tell Edward of the missing money when he was cut short by an uninterested boss.

"Matthew, the books are not supposed to make sense. Besides, that is only for this month. We will recover the losses and then some, next month. You are too young to be so scrutinising over petty things. Go home to your beautiful wife, have something to eat, make love and we'll see you in the morning." Strolling past Matthew's desk before Matthew could answer, he unlocked the door to his shared office and opened it, stepping inside and flicking on the light. Edward was older than Matthew by several years and spoke with a very distinct eastern accent; nasally and abrasive. Removing his bowler hat and green overcoat, he made his way around to sit down at his own desk, adjacent from his partner's, and sighed heavily as his eye caught Matthew standing in the doorway. "What is it?"

"Edward, a few dollars and some change is repairable but this... there are hundreds of dollars missing, at any given time during the year and I can't account for it. George has been upset with me for his last two paychecks. Ted feels the same way and Neil wants my blood for his decreased commissions. I believe there is reason to be alarmed." Matthew stepped into the room but stood far enough away from Edward's desk as not to crowd the man.

Fuming but refusing to let Matthew see the ire, Edward smiled and shook his head. "George and Ted are both constant sloshers, Matthew. They are paid what they are earned, no more, no less. Neil does not bring in enough for an oversized commission check, as you well know so, his anger is displaced. As for the others, if they are so disgruntled, they have but to walk through that door and state their grievances. Now, again... do not continue this query. Go home to your pretty little wife, rest well and it will all work itself out in the morning. Am I understood?"

Matthew blinked. "Are you threatening my employment, Edward?"

Laughing casually, Edward stood and made his way around his desk to stand next to Matthew and pat his back. "Threaten? No, of course not. Gerald and I have done your uncle a favour by employing you. You have proven time and again to be only the best employee we've had. However, if you insist on pressing this issue again, Matthew, your employment will not be the only thing in jeopardy. Is that clear?"

Matthew swallowed. "Yes sir."

"Good." Edward smiled brightly and gave a hard pat to Matthew's back. "See you in the morning!"

Matthew smiled shortly and nodded curtly before watching Edward make his way back to his desk and sit down. He was stopped again as he turned to exit the room.

"Matthew,-?" Edward busied himself with his own paperwork that he spread across his desk in the moment of silence between them. "Since this weighs heavy on your shoulders and you rarely take a day to yourself, why not take the weekend, and we'll see you on Monday, hm?" Finally looking up to see Matthew's confused expression, he smiled again and waved Matthew on.

Standing in the doorway and watching as Edward returned to his paperwork, Matthew was unsure what to think. Hew knew Edward Deacon and Gerald White were both up to unlawful things but wasn't sure how to approach the subject. "Monday, then." Rounding the corner and making his way back to his desk, Matthew stared at the open books and debated his next move. 

~~~~~~~~

Karen stepped inside the ice cream parlour, stepping out of the way of the glass door, she stood there a moment and took in the ambience of the long room. Holding up a photo of how it looked during Matthew's era and trying to imagine what it was like as a law office, Karen hadn't realised that Laura walked in behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. "Laura, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there." She had tracked down the photo while digging through the mound of photos in the box they had found. She was interested in seeing for herself the other aspects of Matthew's life as well as finding a possible clue left behind and forgotten.

Smiling, Laura stepped in and turned to stand in front of Karen. "I saw you come in. Don't tell me you have a sweet tooth, too."

Karen was caught off guard by the statement and quickly glanced around the shop before answering. "Huh? Oh. I was thinking about it but, I found this old picture and the address on the back says this is where Deacon and White was located. I thought I'd come down to try and imagine what it was like back then. You know, get the feel for the place, so to speak." The business hadn't been too busy since the outside temps were coming down as Octobre moved on to the later days of the month yet, there were several people who had the same idea of something cool for an afternoon snack. "I think," looking at the photo in her hand again and then pointing to the far corner booth, Karen felt excited, "that booth was where he sat." She looked up to see Laura turn around and then back as she nodded.

"Yeah, I used to come here when I was a girl. My grandma used to bring me here all the time. She told me she remembered the day the office closed and they carted all the desks and stuff out, loaded them onto trucks and headed for the dump. C'mon, I'll treat ya." They sat down in the far corner booth. Laura stayed quiet as Karen took in the ambience of her surroundings. "You can almost feel it, can't ya?" Sitting across from her, Laura scooped up a spoonful of strawberry ice cream and place it in her mouth before removing the spoon. She swallowed and dug her spoon in for another scoop. 

Nodding and smiling as she carved a spoonful of her vanilla ice cream, Karen let the cold treat smush between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. "I thought just being in his house was and living where he lived was an interesting feeling. This place has a lot of history to it and you can really feel it."

Laura only nodded in agreeance. "I was actually going to stop by your place when I saw you here. I talked to my cousin, Collin, yesterday and he told me that a few years or so ago, he received a package addressed to Adam Jenson, his dad. Adam was the youngest son of Charles Jenson. Adam passed away fifteen years ago. Anyway, he didn't think anything of it until I mentioned to him that grandma sold Matt's house and all the clues that you and I were uncovering. So, I wanted to see if you wanted to go with me to look at the package."

The offer had taken Karen by surprise. She wasn't sure what to say but "yes" quickly came to her lips. "If you don't mind me tagging along...?"

Laura giggled. "We both know that Matt can't exactly leave the house, with the whole 'dead' issue so, I would actually prefer you join me. Mom and Collin don't exactly get along. Somethin' to do with the seventies. I don't know." She waved off the last part about her mother and cousin before scooping another spoonful of ice cream. Her hair had been pulled back on the side and clipped together with her favourite barrette with a fishbone braid of the two joined sides, down the back.

~~~~~~~~~

"My father told me stories about my grandfather being obsessed with the Jenson cousin. His mother forbade their children to speak his name, even as they lived in his house. In fact, she asserted that point after July four, nineteen-fifteen. Not because of the holiday but because of what my aunt Olivia said about him." Collin Jenson held an old shoebox wrapped in brown paper and tied with a white string with an address label written in black Sharpie ink on the lower right corner. Making his way through the cluttered living room, filled with trinkets and porcelain dolls of all varieties, he sat down on an aged, green tweed recliner and placed the box on his lap. For a man of seventy-eight and tall frame, he moved around his cluttered home with minimal difficulty. Hazel eyes and a thin and kind face stared back at the two women who sat on the eighties era sofa, adjacent to the recliner and facing the small, stone fireplace. His chair faced the window that looked out to the front porch, a view he had come to take solace in after losing his wife of fifty years, in the Spring.

Laura straightened from her relaxed position after hearing the small tidbit. "What did she say about him?" With her elbow resting on the arm of the sofa, she leaned in closer to her cousin as she sat closest to him, and waited, curiously.

Collin took a breath and looked from the window to the young woman on his right. "Her older sister, Camile, told me when I was only twelve, that Olivia had an imaginary friend who was tall, with yellow hair. That July four, the family was supposed to visit Elmore and Cassandra to watch the fireworks. Olivia found her father sitting in the parlour of his cousin's home and said his name. Olivia stated this man would tuck her in and tell her stories and watch over them, as they slept. And that he was a sad man. That bothered Olivia. For a four-year-old to say something like that, my grandfather was concerned and they moved out as soon as their house was complete. Olivia never spoke of him again."

Karen and Laura looked at each other, knowingly. "Did Camile ever see this imaginary friend?"

"No." Collin shook his head and then looked down at the box in his lap. After another breath, he lifted the box and handed it to Laura. "After my Jenny died, my kids have been talking me into getting rid of some clutter. I found this in the back of my father's closet. It's been sitting amongst his things in the basement until I could find what to do with it. I never cared to know anything about that side of the family so, when you mentioned his name, I thought you might find a use for it." Folding his hands and placing them on his lap of light brown khakis, he eyed the box and then looked up to meet Karen's gaze. "Would you lovely young ladies care to stay for supper? Carolyn is bringing over her chicken and dumplings." A pressed white button up shirt against his tanned skin told them that he was not a man who wallowed in grief but preferred to work outside, in the sunshine.

Checking her watch, Karen glanced at Laura, who looked back at her with hopeful eyes. "Just let me call my kids." She smiled up at Collin and reached for her purse to grab her mobile phone.

Collin stood and walked back to the kitchen, stating he would ready the kitchen table for the extra guests.

"Carrie's chicken and dumplings are to die for." Laura nudged Karen as Karen dialed Kristy's number. Looking down at the box on her lap, she noted the size of it; a square box big enough to fit a pair of hiking boots in. Biting her lip and staring at the writing, she wondered whose handwriting it was. Glancing over at Karen as she hung up from leaving Kristy a message, Laura voiced her question. "Do you suppose someone in the White and Deacon camp felt guilty?"

Shrugging and shaking her head before looking back towards the kitchen, Karen wasn't sure what to think. "I see what you mean about the family forgetting all about him. Charles must have been really adamant that he didn't take his own life." She then eyed the box and writing. "Old style lettering and an updated address code. Whomever it was that sent this was sitting on it for a long time. Is it heavy? Light?"

Laura picked up the box and felt the weight, shaking it a bit."Not heavy, not really. There is some weight to it but, it could be anything. More letters?" She bit the side of her cheek and debated on opening it. Looking back to see Collin bring out a tray of glasses and ice and set it down on the small oval coffee table, in front of them, she decided to leave it for later. "Thanks, Collin. Can I help you with setting the table?" She smiled up at him as he straightened and smiled down in return.

"No. No, I can manage. Would you girls like some tea or lemonade? I made some sun tea yesterday and lemonade from the lemons Carolyn brought me, this morning." Collin looked to Karen and then Laura. His mother taught him manners for guests, when he was only six.

"Iced tea, is fine. Thank you." Karen smiled.

Laura nodded. "I'll have the same. Please."

The mysterious contents of the package weighed heavily on both their minds but neither woman faltered in conversation and laughs during supper. Karen had to watch herself as Carolyn questioned her about buying Margaret's house. She had wanted to correct the woman was reminded not to by Laura clearing her throat. "Yes. I love old Victorians. My kids and I have been fixing it up, here and there." She smiled at the woman of fifty-four and who bore striking resemblance to Cassandra. "This meal is delicious, Mrs. Scott." She smiled as she took another bite of chicken.

"Carolyn, please." Carolyn returned the smile. "Laura talks about you and your children quite often. I'm glad she found a good friend. What is it you do for living?"

Karen finished chewing and swallowed her bite. "I work at Janice's Little Box of Treasures, in town. Janice's son and I have been restoring some furniture, left in the attic, and I wanted to show Margaret a piece I finished."

"Oh, how wonderful! I haven't seen Janice in years." Carolyn stabbed a few noodles on her plate and raised her fork, waiting to take a bite as she finished her sentence. "Please tell her hello, for me." She and her father sat on one side of the table while Laura and Karen sat across from them. Taking the bite and chewing and swallowing, she dug in with another question. "I didn't know furniture restoration was apart of Janice's antique shop. Is she expanding?"

Karen shook her head as she chewed and swallowed. "No. My last job, in Boulder, was for a restoration place. I met Janice through her son, who graduated from school there. She is a really sweet lady and fun to be around. It made the move easier for us."

"What does your husband do?" Carolyn glanced up from her last bite to see the slight flinch of guilt on Karen's face.

Taking a breath to calm herself, Karen answered quietly. "I'm divorced."

"I'm sorry." Carolyn said sombrely. "I got divorced from my husband a few years ago. Then, I met my current husband at a fishing tournament, last year. I'm sure the right one will come along, soon." A gentle smile as she gathered the empty plates and stood to take them over to the small porcelain sink that hadn't been redone since the mid-sixties.

 

Continued.


	23. Chapter 23

"Josh, supper's ready!" Kristy called up the stairs to his shut door before walking back to the kitchen. After her stop at the cemetery, she met her brother at his school, down the street from their house, and continued the walk home when their mother called her. Since starting class, she had taken an Home Economics class where she learned to bake chicken, breaded with a dash of pepper for spice. Throwing a bag of steamable nibblets into the microwave and pressing the START button, she called his name again. "Josh!" When she turned around again, she found him standing in the doorway with a wrinkled nose. "What's your problem?"

Grimacing and eyeing the chicken on the foil-covered cookie sheet that cooled on the stove top, Josh then looked over at the table set for two. "Where's mom?"

The microwave dinged completion before she could answer. She turned to grab a cereal bowl out of the cupboard and set it on the countre before opening the door to the microwave, for the nibblets. "She and Laura went to visit a cousin of Laura's and they're staying for supper." Kristy busied herself with tearing open the bag and dumping the corn into the bowl before continuing. "They should be home soon." She turned again and brought the bowl over to the table, where Josh had sat down in a chair, his back to the dividing wall of kitchen to formal dining room. "I'll grab a spoon for those. Did you wash your hands?"

"Yes." Josh's grimace returned as she picked a table spoon and two forks from the silverware drawer before carrying them over and returning to the stove to dish up the breaded chicken legs onto two plates. As Kristy set his plate down in front of him, he stared at the chicken with mixed feelings. "Am I being punished for something?" He picked up his fork and stabbed at the chicken, waiting for it to move or melt from exposure.

Kristy looked down at her brother. "No, why?"

Josh's lip curled in disgust. "Because everytime something happens, you end up cooking for me."

"I'll have you know I'm getting an 'A' in this class. Don't like it? Starve!" Kristy scowled and turned back to get her own plate of chicken and two spoons for the corn. She returned to the table and sat down, scooting in her own chair before scooping a pile of corn onto her plate. With a keen eye, she glanced up and watched as he poked and sniffed at the chicken leg on his plate before pulling a piece off with his pork and taking a bite. "Well...?"

Josh chewed. "Edible." He chewed another bite before swallowing and then looked up at her. "What was with you, earlier? See a ghost?"

Kristy lowered the spoonful of corn she had raised to her mouth before raising an eyebrow at him. "Hello, stupid. We live with two."

"I meant when you came to my school." Josh snapped.

Shaking her head and taking her bite, Kristy chewed. "No. It was just... there was something odd at the cemetery. Someone was playing a cruel Halloween prank, or something."

Josh scoffed. "Halloween isn't for a few weeks, yet. Not to mention, it was broad daylight. Why would they do something like that during the day?"

Chewing a bite of chicken and swallowing, Kristy thought. "It was just weird, alright?"

"Like what?"

Kristy blinked at him and thought back to the distraught woman in black that stood over Matthew's grave. "Just finish your supper." Taking another bite and chewing, she replayed the afternoon's events in her mind. "What day is it?" She asked out loud but didn't really expect an answer.

Josh took a bite of chicken. "The seventh. Why?"

Brow furrowing, Kristy scooped up the last spoonful of nibblets and raised the spoon to her mouth. "Why does that sound so familiar?" Chewing her last bite, she pushed her chair back and stood, gathering her plate and silverware. Placing them in the sink and turning back to see her brother finish his supper and stand up, Kristy heard sounds coming from the foyer and then Karen came around the corner to greet them. "Mom, you missed an amasing meal. I cooked." She beamed a smile and made her way over to hug her mother and Laura as they stepped into the kitchen.

"It was edible. Nothin' to write home about." Josh's monotone voice trailed as he made his way over to the sink and placed his plate and silverware ontop of Kristy's.

"You liked it." Kristy turned and scoffed at her brother's words. "What's that?" Looking down and eying the wrapped package, in Laura's hands, she glanced back up at the older woman.

Laura held up the box in her hands and smiled. "A birthday present."

~~~~~~~~~~

Laura sat down on the sofa with the box on her lap. 

Karen's face lit up. "That's right! I forgot. Happy Birthday, Laura." She smiled and sat down beside her on the next cushion. 

"Thank you." Smiling, Laura took a breath and glanced back down at the box, not sure if she wanted to open it. When she looked back up at Kristy and Josh, who stood a few steps away from them, she raked her front teeth over her bottom lip. "My cousin, Collin, found this box that was sent to his dad, a few years ago. Collin's grandpa was Charles Jenson." Pausing to slip her arms out of her light green windbreaker, she shifted backward onto the cushion more and then moved to the string, pulling on an end and carefully untied it.

A squeal of delight came from the arm of the sofa as Tabitha had appeared, sitting lady-like on the rounded arm. "I do hope it's shoes! I loved getting shoes for gifts! Charlie gave me these really nice heels, black felt with gold tassels on the tops and gold leaves up the heels. Oh, I loved those shoes. I wore them to my first Lloyd picture." She smiled brightly and did her 'movie star' pose as if posing for a photo shoot in a magazine. Hearing Matthew clear his throat as he stood behind them, she straightened and turned back to Laura. "Well, don't keep us in suspense. Open it, birthday girl!"

Laura unwrapped the package, careful not to rip the paper or smear any fingerprints. "It's an old shoebox but I don't think it's shoes, Tabby." Barely touching the sides of the lid with her fingertips, she uncovered the box and stared down at the contents inside, brow furrowing from confusion. "A book. An old one."

Matthew stepped forward and peered down, over Laura's right shoulder. "It's a ledger. A record book I used to keep track of money for the firm. One went missing not long after the anonymous 'Carter' account showed up. Gerald was furious for weeks but Edward's ire lasted much longer. Laura, what is the date on the spine?"

Carefully, Laura lifted the dusty and worn old book and turned it to look at the spine. In gold plating, the year 1903, was inscribed.

"But, we already have one for nineteen oh three. Is this a fake, or the other one?" Kristy looked confused.

Shaking her head and looking up at Kristy, she held up the book. "No. That one stopped at nineteen oh two. Shady companies, back then, kept two ledgers; one for the feds and one for dirty dealings." Turning and giving a sympathetic look over her shoulder, she met Matthew's eyes. "Sorry, Matt." When she turned back, she opened the thick cover and turned a few stiff and yellowed pages. "This can't be your handwriting, Matt. It's too messy." Looking up at her spectral cousin again, she noted the wash of clarification that came over him.

Matthew took a moment to stare at the black-inked handwriting on the pages. "It's not." Sorrow filled his expression as he backed away from them. 

"You do recognise it, right? So, whose is it? Edward's? Gerald's?" Kristy asked, impatiently. She retracted her anxiousness as she saw the hurt on his face. "So, you do know it, then." 

A moment of silence passed before Matthew stepped closer again, shaking off whatever personal feeling he was concealing. "Might I see the writing on the paper it was wrapped in? Please." He waited as Laura moved the box and folded the side of the paper over to expose the address the box was sent to. Matthew shook his head. "The styling is familiar but, the pen it was written in is too new." He met eyes with Laura and then Karen and noted that Karen was beginning to see a similar stroke to the script, as well.

Karen stood and excused herself from the room as she went upstairs and retrieved the small, red book she had read countless times, from her bedside table. Rounding the corner into the Parlour, she held up the book and shook it. "I knew I saw that writing somewhere. It's--"

"Angela's. My wife's writing. Someone must have gone over it with dark ink because it was fading and then placed it on my cousin's doorstep." Matthew stood looking very proper, with his hands behind his back as if waiting for something special to happen. "But, how did she get ahold of the book? When?" He turned and walked to the window and stared out at the night. If he had a heart, it would surely have been broken by the newest information.

Flipping through the pages of the ledger and staring at the handwriting on the pages and then the writing on the brown paper, Laura grew more and more curious. "Well, if she was working against you, why would she send the ledger to the one man who spent his latter years searching for your murderer? I mean, it would only incriminate her more. Right?" She turned her head and stared at Matthew's back. "Matt?"

Matthew focused on a tree that stood in the front yard of the house across the street. "I would sincerely hope my wife would not have plotted against me with my own uncle." Shaking his head in quiet disbelief, he continued to stare out the window. "I should have put it together when I was alive. I suppose I didn't want to believe it. He hated my mother and, in turn, hated me. I was nothing but a black mark on his perfect reputation." Bowing his head and closing his eyes, Matthew listened to the silence that had befallen the group.

"Man, I'm lost!" Josh declared.

Raising his head and turning to make eye contact with the boy, Matthew smiled patiently. "Carter was my grandfather's name. Elmore had on more than one occasion told me what a disaster I had been to his family. Pulling me from my beloved practise and into employment with parties known to do business with shadier characters, such as Edward Deacon and Gerald White. When I did not give in to his filthy dealings, he employed Angela to tear apart my heart and mind, all the while insisting I was the addled son to his soiled and dead sister." he paused. "I was a fool, Joshua. Since then, save a few, my family has discreetly brushed me under the rug."

Kristy thought back to her earlier encounter, in the cemetery. "I don't think she sold you out. If she sent him the ledger, no matter how she got it, it means she put two and two together. You said yourself Elmore was irate that you were asking questions about the account. Sometime, maybe before or after your death, she must have figured it all out, too. She knew the family hated her so, she kept her pregnancy a secret from them, trying to spare additional pain to you and her." Catching his calm stare, Kristy swallowed. "You were her soulmate, Matt. She told me so."

Matthew's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Uh, I stopped at the cemetery, after school today and walked around. Took a look around the family plot; Carter, Charles, Cassandra, Elmore, they were all clumped together like a clique. Then, I saw a dark shadow standing over your grave. I thought it was Laura, at first, but I got closer and she told me you 'weren't at rest' and that you were her ultimate love. Elmore was a jerk, yea. But, you had... have family and friends that loves you." Kristy bit her tongue as she could see on his face she had overstepped her bounds and offended him.

Laura moved the box and packaging to set it on the table, in front of her, and stood up in realisation. "Ohmygod, of course! It's my birthday, but it's Matt and Angela's anniversary. She's waiting for you, Matt. I will bet you anything that's why she showed herself!" Her face brightened with a smile. 

Turning and smiling sombrely, Matthew bowed to his young cousin. "Happy birthday, Laura." The others had joined him in telling Laura happy birthday but it was his own statement that had caused his cousin to blush and shed a tear. He knew how much it meant for her to hear him, a long lost and forgotten relative of another era, celebrate her birthday with her. In return for his own kind words, she had told him "happy anniversary" and, for the first time, he had felt the sentiment was real and genuine.

"So, what happens now?" Josh asked, staring at the ledger with mixed feelings. He wanted to destroy it, throw it away or forget it ever existed but he found it would be difficult and hard to do without Matthew feeling betrayed. He couldn't do that to his best friend and a man that had waited so long to see his family again as well as finally being at rest.

Matthew looked to Karen. "Yes, I cannot simply tell a court of law what has transpired over one hundred years ago. Also, there is no one left to hold accountable for my death." A brief silence befell the room as the realisation of his words sunk in. "I appreciate your help all but I'm afraid I will be stuck here, forever." With his hopes dashed, he bowed his head and lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Awesome! We'll have so much fun, Matt! You won't ever have to leave!" Josh jumped up and cheered from beside his mother, who placed a hand on his shoulder to quiet him after his sudden outburst of excitement. "What? I don't want Matt or Tabby to go. It's not fair." He settled but didn't look up to make eye contact with either Matthew or Tabitha.

After remaining silent for so long, Tabitha stood and came closer to Josh, kneeling down to his level. "Josh, I know you don't want us to go and we've had a lot of fun, with all of you. However, well, it's time for us to move on. We've lived our lives and died a long time ago. Matt and I have waited so long to see our own families and loved ones. You really don't want us to be stuck here forever, do you?" She could see the deep remorse in his face as they met eyes. She understood that he had found a friend and father figure in Matt and loved hearing all of the funny stories about Tabitha and her fascinating past but, even she admitted that she didn't want to leave.

Josh rounded his shoulders and looked away. "I guess not. I just... nevermind. It's stupid." Quickly wiping a tear from his eye and turning away from the group, he hurried out of the room and up the stairs to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Karen turned and called after Josh as he fled the room but got no response. When she turned back, she found Matthew holding a hand up for her to let Josh have a moment to himself. "Well, that book only shows proof Deacon and White _were_ on the shady side of things. It doesn't prove Matthew was murdered or by whom. We know Elmore had a hand in it but no actual admittance of the deed, itself." She paused a moment and thought about the next step. "The first time I went to Elmore's house, I found myself standing in Elmore and Cassandra's room, looking at all the pictures she had on her wall. The woman dressed as Cassandra came up behind me and we talked for a bit about the family. She mentioned that Elmore kept a private journal where he mentions he was devastated by Matthew's loss. If he did have something to do with it, maybe it's in there?"

"What woman that looked like Cassandra?" Laura's brow furrowed as she turned to look at Karen in question.

Questioning her own statement, Karen stepped closer to the sofa and looked from Matthew to Laura. "The reenactor that looked almost identical to the woman in the photo of Cassandra...?" She thought back to the moment she stood in front of the wall of old photos and couldn't recall the footsteps coming up to or retreating from her. She watched as Laura slowly shook her head. "No reenactors." Shaking her own head no, in unison with Laura, Karen had a realisation of what had happened. "I'll be damned."

"You met my aunt Cassie? She was there?" Matthew's expression brightened. He had turned from once again staring out the window and came to sit down on the sofa, next to Laura. A hopeful look on his face made way for a smile, albeit a small one.

Karen smiled as she saw how happy he was, knowing that Cassandra had given Karen an important hint on how to solve Matthew's problem. "Yea, I did. And I think I know how to prove it. We need to find that journal. If he did have a hand in your death, a guilty conscience will always want to come clean to whomever's willing to keep the secret. Elmore, being someone in high power, would want that kind of secret kept far away from public view. It has to be in that house, somewhere. It's worth a shot to look. Right?"

Matthew stared at the book Kristy had picked up and was now flipping through. "No, it wouldn't be in his house. Furthest from, in fact."

"Huh?" Kristy looked up, confused.

"In 1897, there was a man who found his wife having an affair with his brother. It was in all the papers for well over six months. Uncle was livid that he employed this man. Anyway," Matthew clarified and stood up to walk over to the fireplace, "years later, it was found that he kept receipts of the arsenic he used to steadily poison both his brother and his wife and then buried the evidence in one of his wife's old hat boxes. By that time, the man had grown ill, himself, due to using the very spoon he used to poison his wife and brother. He finally confessed on his deathbed."

Laura stood and stepped closer. "So, you think it's here, in this house." The pieces were coming together and she had hoped she guessed right.

Matthew shook his head and turned to look at her. "I have no idea. However, I would not count it against my uncle."

A light of clarity dawned on Karen. "Wait a minute. That's what he meant."

"Who? Meant what?" Kristy asked. She had gone back to flipping through the book, looking for any kind of a clue and coming up short but looked up to find Karen laughing at herself and shaking her head as if figuring out a hidden puzzle. "Mom?"

Karen shook herself loose from the thought and explained to the rest of the group. "Dalton Kent. He and I had dinner, a few weeks ago, and he rambled on and on about some sort of 'treasure' to Matthew's estate. Well, he went on to explain the, I guess, logic behind Matthew burying his mother where he did and later where Cassandra chose him to be placed. The street next to Fairmount Cemetery was a main beat for the patrolmen to walk. There's a streetlight not twenty feet from their grave, illuminating their graves, after dark, so that anyone who tried to rob their graves would be seen doing so. I have a feeling Elmore took into account that man's confession and murder of his wife and brother and chose to hide his own evidence in the very place people back then would be appalled to dig up; even for one not given absolution."

"Uncle wouldn't hear of letting his own sister, soiled and used, being buried among his family. He hated my mother for her choices and hated me, as a poor result of one." Matthew sighed and averted his eyes. "I buried her there because I used to walk home from work each night and would stop to remember her. A month before I had her moved, the first streetlamp was added to that walk. Uncle was furious. How could I do such a ghastly thing? But, I missed my mother." Looking up and back out the window, he continued. "Some time after my own death, he stopped here. Angela had left and my furniture was covered in sheets. The house was dark and cold and so lonely. He went from room to room and stopped in the attic, staring at the crossbeam. In one brief moment, he saw me. Begged my forgiveness of... something. Then, he left."

Kristy closed the book and stood up, holding it with both hands. "That sounds like a way guilty conscience, to me."

Tabitha had moved to stand next to him and put her arms around his shoulders. "I'll say. So, what do we do now?"

"As much as I hate to say it, Matt, I think an exhumation might be in order." Laura groaned at the thought of disturbing one's rest but she found it ever so slightly comforting that he _wasn't_ at rest but felt he had the right to know and even asked if it was acceptable. "Granted, we'll search the houses first, that way, if we still come up empty... may we have your permission...?" In the moment that it too for her to ask, a shiver raced down her spine. She could tell by the look on his face that even Matthew was not comfortable with the thought but wanted, now more than ever, to get to the bottom of his murder.

Matthew didn't answer. He didn't have to. His eyes fell to the book Kristy held in her hands and then back to Laura. "Houses, first."

"Of course." Laura nodded.

~~~~~~~~

The search of Elmore's house had turned up with nothing more than a few old family photos, height charts and dust bunnies but the search in Matthew's house proved to be a little more fruitful. A week had past and then another as Laura, Karen, Kristy and Josh had methodically moved from room to room and searched in every possible hiding place in Elmore's house and then used the very same methods to search Matthew's house, with Matthew and Tabitha as extra -inside- help.

Kristy sighed and wiped her forehead with the back of her right sleeve of her light yellow sweater. She sat on the floor, in the far corner of the Conservatory and tapped on the floorboards and baseboards, trying to find any hidden or hollow spots. Making her way across the floor on her hands and knees, tapping and knocking until her knuckles on both hands were sore and red, she had made it half way to the door when she knocked on a hollow spot hidden underneath a small antique-looking planter cart. Kristy gasped and rolled the cart out of the way before knocking on the same spot again and getting the same hollow sound. Poking her head around the corner of the room and calling out to the rest of the group, Kristy listened to the silence before calling again. "Hey! I think I found something!"

"What'd ya find, girlie?" Tabitha stood behind Kristy and giggled as the teen turned and gave a small yelp at the sudden presence of the ghost. "Sorry."

On her hands and knees, Kristy crawled back to the spot and again tapped around on the floor until she found the spot that was hollow. "A hollow spot in the floor. I need... stand right here. I need something to pry the board up with." Standing up and pointing to the spot she had found, Kristy turned and hurried into the kitchen for a butter knife, as she hadn't thought of using a screwdriver, and then made her way back to where Tabitha now stood. Clearing her throat and kneeling down, Kristy jabbed the small crack between boards and wedged a board up. As she lift the shortened board up, it revealed a small hole in the floor, underneath. "There's something down there." Reaching for the small, pink flashlight in her backpocket that she had stuffed there hours ago and forgot about, she turned it on and shined the light down the hole.

Tabitha leant over and waited impatiently for Kristy to bring whatever she saw up. "What is it? A clue?"

"No." Kristy blanched and sat up, clicking off the flashlight. "A mummified rat."

Tabitha shook her head. "Oh, Uncle Fred." Her tone had implied disdain but it was a smirk that implied she was joking about her statement. She sighed and looked towards the doorway as Matthew had appeared and stood there waiting for an answer. "Dead rat." She nodded.

Matthew sighed and blinked and looked to Kristy as the teen replaced the board and stood up, brushing the dust off of her hands in the process. "Your mother has found something in the master closet, upstairs." He waited for Kristy to smile and walk around him, hurrying upstairs, to look back to Tabitha and raised an eyebrow, not understanding the reference. "Uncle Fred?"

"Yea. He was a mob rat." Smiling and patting Matthew's arm as she stepped past him, Tabitha elaborated. "Twenties speak, doll. After eighty years with me, you still haven't advanced? Tsk." Walking past him and disappearing as she walked, they both reemerged in Karen's bedroom as she stood on a step stool and reached up, into the small crawlspace of the ceiling and pulled down a rusted tin box. "Wow. That's been up there awhile."

Karen held the box in her hand and stepped down, off the step stool. Brushing a slow hand across the lid of the container and finding a painted picture of a lovely Edwardian lady sitting at a vanity and applying rouge to her left cheek. The year written in the middle of a faded red, now pink ribbon, read 1903 and seemed to hold some significance. She stared at it as if holding a piece of delicate history and for once, she was afraid of what was inside. Her thumb lingered on the corner of the lid as she took a shaky breath. "Everyone ready?" The first person she focused on, when she looked up, was Matthew. The second was Laura as everyone huddled around her, eyeing the box in her hands.

Tabitha wrapped her arms around Matthew's shoulders and rest her chin on his left shoulder as she stood behind him. "Oh, we're all aflutter, doll!" Nudging her companion, she lift her chin up to ask him. "Does it look familiar at all?" Her voice was a whisper in his ear and she held him slightly tighter as he shook his head in answer.

In a calm voice and draping her right arm around her bother's shoulders, Kristy wet her lips before she spoke. "Mom. Open it." She nodded and glanced over at Matthew before looking back to the box in her mother's hands. Her heart pounded in her chest and she had to keep telling herself that it could be the box was empty or full of forgotten makeup, but she doubted it. "Think it's just makeup? Maybe Angela forgot it was up there? Just throwing it out there." Her eyes widened as she looked to her mother, who shared the same look of hope and terror mashed together. 

Karen cleared her throat and heaved a sigh. "I think this honour should go to the family." She looked from Kristy to Laura and then to Matthew. "Do you think you can open this?" She saw the amount of urgency and terror mixed with casual remorse on his face and almost hoped he would accept the privelage.

Matthew shook his head. "Even for as long as I have been held here, it would take a tremendous amount of energy for me to pry that open. Turning a knob, flipping a switch, or even hiding a catalog would be more of my ability. I think the honour should go to my cousin, who has been working so hard to prove my aunt Cassie and cousin Charles right." He knew he was able to at least hold it and possibly use enough energy to at least work up the top but chose to let the living descendant open the box that might or might not hold the end to his curse. A small smile graced his lips as he watched Karen hand the box to Laura and winked as the young cousin glanced over at him as if to ask him the question, "are you sure?"

With her hands shaking and her heart racing of the moment, Laura accepted the box and her chin trembled as she placed her thumb on the corner of the lid and pushed up. "It's stuck." Laura moved her hand to grab the opposite corner and pull upward, digging her fingernails under the rolled corner of the tin. Her breath caught as the lid started to move. She calmed herself and swallowed her anxiety of the moment as the lid moved to the top and finally came loose. It was slow motion as she moved the lid aside and revealed a medium-sized container that was only two inches tall, full of old, folded or rolled up papers placed neatly inside. Laura walked carefully over to the blue settee and sat down on the closest end to the closet and placed the box on her lap. Reaching in and sifting down, into the papers and pulling out the corner of a yellowed envelope, she read the name handwritten on the front. "Matthew." She held it up to him and showed the name on the envelope.

"Angela's handwriting." A deep dread fell over him as his worst suspicions were being brought to light.

Laura flipped it over and lifted the tab out of the pocket and removed the letter inside. Opening the trifold letter and taking a moment to stare at the penmanship, she scanned the writing. "My dearest Matthew, These last few months of being in your arms and waking up by your side has been so wondrous to me. I adore you. I adore our chats and walks through the garden or the lazy afternoons on the banks of the park, feeding the adorable little ducks. But now, my love, it is time to tell you what I know and pray you take this well. Gerald White and his evil henchman, Edward Deacon, had set a plan to abolish your uncle's seat in the state government. Elmore called upon me to draw you away from their misdoings and instead use you as his own scapegoat. Gerald and my father were partners long before I met you, my love. Somehow, your uncle found out and decided to involve me in the middle, as well. Matthew, Elmore is a corrupt being and, forgive me, I thought the same of you. And then, I met you. No one has shown the amount of warmth you have. Gathered inside this box is all I have collected of Elmore, Gerald, Edward's and my own involvement in this muddled mess you spend night after night fretting over. As you read this, my darling, please recall what our love meant to each other. I never wanted to betray your love. I love you. Angela Jenson." A moment of silence shrouded them as Laura folded and replaced the letter to the envelope, not looking up at the ghost of her cousin.

The sun had set and in the moment of twilight, Matthew felt the betrayal and the utter love his long dead wife had expressed in such few words. He sighed and turned around, closing his eyes. "Why didn't she say anything? She let me walk around in complete darkness, just to protect her secret dealings with my uncle as well as my bosses. I feel as a complete... fool. Perhaps, Uncle was right. I was addled." Matthew started to think back to subtle hints of each moment in his life with Elmore and his family, that begged for him to take notice but became snatched away by countre-actions. "One month before I died, he came to me and demanded I was somehow addle-minded and inadequate to take our marriage and make it a family. Every moment I believed Angela chose me and chose to be a mother to my child, was a lie. I was nothing to her but a play thing, with my uncle on the other end pulling and prodding to what insanity he wanted me in. Perhaps, I would have done more in the orphan asylum, where Thomas wanted me to go." He raised his head and opened his eyes as he felt Tabitha's hand on his shoulder again.

"That's not true." Kristy stepped forward, letting go of her brother and coming around to stand in front of the forlorn ghost. Folding her arms and putting her weight on her right foot, she scolded him for his self-doubt.

Laura stared at the envelope in her hands and then looked up at his back. "You did nothing wrong, Matt. Elmore chose to put you in that position. He was miserable for a long time and you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Bertie even said that after you died, he went off the deep end to where she and Caity didn't speak to him for long periods. Grandma and Bertie both watched Charles stand up to him, on your behalf. Him begging your forgiveness... Matt, he must have seen the error of his ways and realised how much you really meant to him." Shaking her head and looking away, she debated telling him how she felt about her own family patriarch. "You know, for a long time, I hated how he cut you and Cora out of existence. He even hid the key to your room, before he died." She looked back to find him turned around and staring calmly at her. "It wasn't fair. Not to you. Not to anyone who saw what a beautiful person you were-- are."

Karen had stayed silent for a long while and wasn't sure when to speak up. "Maybe, that was why Angela stayed silent? Women were considered less of human, in some instances. Elmore used her and then discarded her once she had used up her usefulness. Her own family did the same thing. Where he saw the bastard child of his dead sister, Charles, Cassandra, Roberta and Caitlyn saw what Angela came to see; a loving human being with so much to offer who was gone way too soon."

Looking from Laura to Karen, Matthew moved to sit next to his cousin on the settee and asked what else was inside the rusted tin box. He craned his neck to look over, into the box as he watched her dig through papers and letters in bundles, with ribbons tied around them.

"Well, there's letters and photos and..." Laura paused. She pulled a small book out from underneath the mound of papers and envelopes. 

The colour and shape of it caught Matthew's eye. "The photograph book. She made such a fuss over my camera. She refused to let me photograph her, in the house. 'Matthew, it will only blacken the walls and ceiling with that horrid soot' she'd say. But, one afternoon, I covered the walls with painters sheets and papered the ceiling and called her into the sitting room and took her photograph as she sat on the sofa." He smiled sadly as Laura opened the book to reveal the yellowed photo of Angela, her long brown hair curled below her shoulders, a light shirt and jacket with matching skirt that draped over her thin legs and fanned out at the bottom. She sat so straight and proper that one would have thought a professional had taken the photo. Her hands sat folded in her lap as if waiting for the moment to be over with but her smile had been what defined the moment. She stared back at the camera with affection and a smile as though blushing. Matthew stared lovingly at the photo and wished he could hold it, and Angela.

Josh came around to stand on the other side of Laura and look into the box. "Well, it's not here. Not anywhere. Now what do we do?"

"When I saw... whoever it was.... bent over Matt's grave, she was doing something. I think they were hiding something there. We might not have to dig up the coffin but, I think something was hidden in Matt's grave." Catching Matthew's eyes, Kristy averted hers. "Sorry, Matt."

Matthew stared at Kristy calmly and listened, weighing what she was saying. "I am certain grave-robbing is still frowned upon, in this day and age. However, I am inclined to know just how deep this conspiracy to have me murdered, extends. If, in fact, my uncle was apart of my demise or if my wife was diverting her involvement, I need to know."

Karen stared at the box and the eyed the contents inside. "Okay, on that note, I think it's time to get cleaned up for supper and then bed. School tomorrow."

Both Kristy and Josh groaned loudly but eventually gave in and dragged their feet over to the doorway and made their way to the bathroom, to wash up. They had thought that, under special circumstances of the mystery at hand, they would be permitted to skip the last day of the week and accompany Karen and Laura to the grave site for the search. Yet, both were bummed to find no such luck.

 

Continued.


	24. Chapter 24

Swan's Nesting Estates  
Aspen, Colorado

Laura knocked on the door to an off white two-story home with a lavish front yard that resembled a small but growing forest. The semi-circle driveway curled around to the back of the house from the right. She knocked again and leaned in to listen for approaching footsteps. Stepping back as she heard the sound of high heels on the tile floor, she waited for the door to open. When it did, she was greeted with an older lady in a peach business dress and short, curly brown hair. "Oh, hello. My name is Laura Peters. I'm sorry to bother you but I'm looking for the Kent household. Am I in the right place?"

The woman looked unsure of the younger woman on her doorstep but nodded. "Yes. I am Evelyn Kent. May I help you?" A black iron security door stood locked between them, just in case the visitor got out of hand and gave the woman a little comfort. Her brow furrowed as Laura shifted from one foot to the other and cleared her throat before answering the question.

"Um, a few months ago, your husband contacted my family, after having inquired about my grandmother, Margaret Davenport. Is your husband Dalton Kent?" Laura felt her nerves practically choke her air right out of her throat, making it impossible to breathe, let alone speak without trembling. She had wanted to do this personal assignment alone, not meaning to be unfair to Karen but felt it was her duty to inform Dalton, in person, of the findings of the test results. Karen had been willing to go with Laura but understood that it was a family matter and best to let Laura handle it. She had asked for her mother to go with but was brushed off without a second thought.

Evelyn blinked. "Yes, he is. What's this about?" Confusion settled on her face, her hand rested on the security door's handle.

Laura cleared her throat again. "Mr. Kent gave my friend Karen a sample of his DNA to run against my great cousin, Matthew Jenson."

"Jenson." Evelyn repeated and raised a hand to her mouth. "Oh. Come in." Unlocking the security door and opening it, stepping back so that Laura could step through and stand in the large foyer with white marble tile flooring and look around. "I'm sorry. Since his boss's passing, it's been a madhouse with reporters and businessmen from all over, trying to get his attention. Dalton's in the study. Right this way." She closed the security door and locked it before she lead Laura through the open hallway, leading to the back room Dalton had designated for his private office.

The inside looked much more larger than what the outside showed. Laura stared up in awe of the high ridged ceiling and column-like corners. "Nice house you have." She said as they came to the closed study door and stopped. Laura's mind wondered how Dalton and Evelyn were able to afford something so luxurious. Leveling her gaze from looking up, Laura was met with the woman's smile.

"Thank you. Dalton's mother was left it in his grandmother's will and then, it eventually became his." Evelyn paused to smile again and then open the door to announce Laura's arrival. "Dear, you have a visitor. Laura Peters from the Jenson family?" She poked her head into the room and found her dosing husband sitting in his easy chair, by the window, with an open newspaper on his lap. "She says it's about a sample you gave her friend."

From around the corner, to the right of the door, Laura heard the soft squeaking of the leather chair being placed in the upright position and the man's voice telling his wife to let her in. Adjusting the thin strap of her small purse, on her shoulder and nodding to Evelyn as she was waved inside, Laura stepped in and looked around the room, oddly decorated to match the Victorian style of a man's study. Maroon wallpaper with white trim along the ceiling and baseboards and dark mahogany wood flooring took Laura's breath away. "Hello...?" The room was cluttered with files and loose papers and shelves of books on the walls, making it impossible for Laura to find the man who was supposedly in the room, somewhere.

"Ah, come in." Dalton stood up from his easy chair that faced a tall window, looking out at the sizable backyard coated in a lush green grass, now covered with a dusting of snow. He turned and greeted the young woman before asking his wife for some refreshments as the woman stood at the doorway. "Is tea alright? Or do you prefer some cocoa?"

Laura shook herself back to reality. "Tea's fine. Thanks." She turned and met eyes with the man she came to see, finding him making his way over to greet her. "I won't take up too much of your time, if you're busy?" Her attention was then placed in her purse as she unzipped it and opened it to remove the folded business-sized envelope and open it, removing the trifold letter inside. "Karen got the results back. I thought I would drive up and give them to you, in person." Laura looked up and found Dalton waiting patiently, his eyes wide and staring at the paper in her hands.

Dalton took a breath and licked his lips before offering her a seat on the navy blue fainting couch, next to the chair by the window. "Please, sit." His easy chair swiveled with a slight squeak but easy enough in the turn for him to sit back down and await the findings. He paused and turned back to the sound of the door opening and his wife entering with a simple wood tray that carried two white china teacups and a matching classic style teapot. "Thank you, dear." 

Placing the tray down on a cleared spot, on the desk, in the far left corner, Evelyn poured the tea into the first of two cups and then handed it to Laura. "Cream or lemon or sugar?"

"Nothing for me. Thank you." Laura smiled politely as she accepted the teacup. She felt a little underdressed while sitting on a fancy fainting couch, in the mansion-esque home of Dalton Kent and his lovely and proper wife. Even on his day off, Dalton chose to wear tan khakis and white button down shirt. She waited for Evelyn to hand the second cup to her husband before sitting down in the brown swivel desk chair, at the desk. "Well, anyway, um, Karen said this came in yesterday's mail. I asked my mom if she would come with to meet you but, she has her gallery's exhibit to get ready for." Clearing her throat again, in nervous reaction, she held the cup and saucer in one hand and unfolded the letter in the other before handing it to Dalton to read.

Patting his shirt pockets with his free hand and then looking about himself, Dalton looked to his wife. "Evie, would you read it for me. I don't have my glasses on." He motioned for Laura to hand it to the woman.

Evelyn accepted the letter from Laura and took a moment to look it over before reading it aloud. "The DNA samples you have provided for us are degraded but provide enough of a usable specimen to conclude that the two test samples are a definite familial match." She looked up at Laura, confused. "A match? To the Jenson boy?"

"Yes." Laura nodded. "Dalton gave Karen a sample of his and Angela's DNA and Karen, the woman that bought my cousin's house, sent it and my cousin's DNA sample to her friend in Colorado Springs, who sent back the results." Even after hearing the confirmation out loud, Laura was unsure how to sit with the results. She took another breath and elaborated for the older woman. "You see, his grandmother claimed to be my great cousin's wife but, my family refused to hear anything more about Angela Jenson, after my cousin, Matthew's death. Which, unfortunately, also means that Matthew was Harrison White's illegitimate son." She glanced back to Dalton and found him listening intently. "We found letters to Mr. White, from Cora, Matt's mom. That was the second test, Karen sent away for." Lightly blowing on her neglected but still hot tea, she sipped at the Tetley and swallowed before replacing the cup to the saucer and resting it on her lap.

A nod as Evelyn fit everything together. "I see." Looking over at her husband, she sighed. "Have you shown her your photo book, dear? Or, perhaps, she would like to see Angela's spot?" After being married to Dalton for fifty years, Evelyn had grown accustomed to his book of old family photos that he knew was somehow related to the Jenson family but his frustration with no acknowledgement from them only gave her worry instead of happiness. She turned back to Laura and gave a polite smile. "It's a nice place, overlooking a lake, next to her husband. Dalton bought her a new slate headstone, a year ago." 

Dalton stood up and moved over to the tall mahogany bookcase, behind Laura, and pulled a thick photo album from the second shelf down and brought it over to where she sat. Sitting down next to her and opening the book, he showed her photos from one hundred years ago and as recent as Angela's grave. "That is my mother, sitting with Cassandra Jenson and my grandmother, having tea in the garden, in 1914." He pointed to the window on the opposite side of the room, which displayed an old, white iron table and chairs, in the distance.

Laura's lips parted in awe as she stared at the furniture. "But, I was told the family had forgotten everything about Matthew, after he died. I knew Cassie and Charlie never stopped working to prove he didn't kill himself but, I had no idea she kept in touch with Angela. She doesn't state it at all in her diary."

"No, I don't suppose she would have." Dalton looked down at the photo and stared at his mother and then to Angela. "When I knew Angela, she was time-warn and frail but kept the locket of she and Matthew on her bedside table. Lucas refused to allow her previous life to be placed anywhere in his house. Not even to let her daughter know her father. All she had was the small wedding photo and the locket that she showed no one, until after Lucas died. I have no other photo of him."

Biting her lip and opening her small, light gray teardrop-shaped purse, Laura removed the bag that contained the locket and the pipe and handed them to Dalton before also removing her car keys and excusing herself. She placed the teacup and saucer on the desk, to her right and then handed him the book before making her way to the door. "I brought something for you. Be right back." As she made her way down the hall and out to her car that sat in front of the house, she opened the door and paused, staring at the 8x10 manilla envelope on the seat. Taking a breath, she picked up the folder and shut the door, turning back to the house. Laura stepped back into the room and found Dalton and Evelyn looking through the photo album, as they sat together on the fainting couch. "Here. We had this enlarged for a personal service, for him. This was the photo Angela took of him, in his favourite jacket. His last photo, unfortunately. Karen's daughter found it in the attic, among his things." Handing the envelope to Dalton as she stood in front of him, she smiled as he accepted it and opened it.

Removing the photo from the envelope, Dalton's jaw dropped. "Thank you." Sniffling to keep back the mist in his eyes, he removed the white hankerchief from his back pocket and wiped his eyes. "I had hoped, for so long, to finally know if she was telling the truth. She was always sad when she spoke of Lucas but, when she'd speak of Matthew, she became young again. I knew I was his grandson. But, had nothing to cement that fact." Dalton turned a few pages in the book, on his lap, and stopped on a page of his own childhood. "That's me. Just about thirty years old."

Laura leaned closer to look at the two photos. "The resemblance is amasing."

Dalton nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A drizzling rain soothed the tired street. The sun had set and Kristy had just finished her history homework. Closing the book and tossing it onto the floor, next to her bag, she listened to the quiet of the house and the drops of rain on the roof. The day was long and tiresome and, whilst she and her brother were in school, Karen and Laura masked their real activities as Matthew's grave by bringing flowers to plant whilst secretly digging for Elmore's journal. Like her day at school, Karen and Laura came up empty.

Kristy sat at her desk and opened her laptop, turning it on and waiting for the browser to load before typing in Tabitha's name into the VidTube search bar. What popped up were various discoloured videos of Keystone shorts with her name listed in bold type, among the credited actors. Clicking the first one and letting it load before it played, she sat back and watched the silly, musical sketch of an obese young man portraying a newly wed gent, living in a beach shanty and the many perils it afforded him as the tide came in. The next sketch was set with the same man at a fancy gala, this time portraying an ill-gained waiter, serving a mid-teen Tabitha a tray full of oysters. As the camera gave the young teen a close-up, Kristy paused the video and admired the way her ghostly friend looked, in black and white life.

With a hand cupping her chin and elbow resting on the desk, Kristy imagined living back then. The set around the actors was that of a huge mansion with floor to ceiling polished white marble tile and finely crafted bronze banisters. Tapping the arrow to continue playing, she stared at the young woman making melodramatic moves and flirting with the camera, as well as the obese young waiter that made a muck of the gala. Kristy noted the dresses of the women and how simple and elegant they were for such a modest era. She smiled as she leaned in to look more closely at the hair styles of Tabitha and her friends. The date at the end of the credits, to the short, said 1915. "Matt would have been forty, then. I wonder if he would have gone to see these in the theatres."

"That's all possible. He and I would talk, sometimes all night and all day long, about things he missed. He would laugh every time I did the Charleston for him. The house was vacant for about thirty years and then, the family only stayed for about six months and then poof! They were outta here like wind through a door." Tabitha had appeared and stood behind Kristy, watching the video of herself and Fatty Arbuckle, on the computer screen. A moment later, she hummed the upbeat tune and danced a few steps of the popular dance craze. She could hear Kristy giggle and laugh at the movements and she laughed with her, as Kristy stood and imitated the dance moves. 

The two laughed and danced before sitting back down to chat about the late teens and the Roaring Twenties. "I loved being alive, back then!" Tabitha smiled as she sat on the edge of Kristy's bed. "Fancy gowns, long, shiny cars, beautiful shoes and fabulous fur coats and diamonds. Women were coming into their own, finally standin' up and not taking any guff from anyone." With a confident nod, Tabitha began telling the fascinated teen about the early years of Hollywood, the houses and decor and being a gangster's girl. 

"Something I've been wondering about; you said your boyfriend picked this place but no one in town talked about Matt. How did he know this place was haunted?" Kristy shifted on the chair and reached for her hair brush, on the desk, next to the laptop. She took her hair out of the french braid she had worn all day and now brushed the left side of her hair as she listened. Since the weather was getting colder, she had unpacked her long pajamas. Pink winter ensemble with a picture of a small panda on the front. 

Tabitha bit her lip and let her excitement drop. "Charlie had this aunt that... more or less knew about this place. She also knew about Matty. The first time I met her was at the hotel, in Chicago. The second time, she was staying at a hotel, downtown. While Charlie and his friends were out on their little adventures, she and I would talk. This aunt of Charlie's was one of the very few that knew Matthew, intimately. She was the only family I had met of his and was just barely calling herself his aunt. Charlie loved her and, funny as it was, she was the only one allowed to call him 'Francis' and get away with it. Charlie and his dad were close so, when he passed away, in '29, she waited until everyone had gone before comin' to visit." Tabitha stared at the small photo of Kristy and her father she kept on the side of the desk. 

The brush strokes became slower and slower until they finally stopped in midstroke and Kristy dropped her hand to her lap, her jaw agape with realisation. "Angela? Aunt... Angela...?"

Tabitha nodded. "Matt doesn't know. And Charlie never spoke of her, here. Or, at all. I've spent eighty years figuring out that my death wasn't an accident, all because I talked to her."

"How do you know?"

Sighing, Tabitha turned to look at Kristy. "The night I gave my not-so-grand exit, that day, she and I had lunch. She warned me about gettin' in too deep in my guy's business. I knew he was no angel but, then she told me about his father. She spent years hounding her brother, tryin' to get him to admit what he had done because she'd gotten too close to 'the family biz'. Women were just supposed to be pretty and dumb. So, I took a little field trip to the basement and found out for myself. I didn't think any of her story was completely true, until I woke up at the bottom of the stairs, with a handsome, young ghost staring down at me." She shrugged. "The price you pay for lovin' criminals."

"So, you've held on to this secret for eighty years?" Kristy started brushing the right side of her hair but asked numbly.

"It's not something Matt really needs to think about. Besides, he already knows it was her brother that did the honours, ya know?" 

Kristy shrugged at the loss of words. Silence surrounded them and she continued to brush her hair. A creek of Josh's door opening and the squeak of his footsteps down the hall caught her attention. She looked towards the bed to find Tabitha gone from her spot, causing Kristy to stand, clutching her hairbrush in her hand. Walking to the door and opening it, she poked her head out and looked for her brother, finding a dim glow coming from downstairs. Kristy started down the dark hallway and paused at her mother's door, looking down to the bottom and finding it dark. A sound from the kitchen reminded her of why she was standing in the hall and she continued on, using caution as she stepped down to the first landing. 

****

Josh rummaged through the drawers and below cabinets of the countre before finding a long metal flashlight under the sink. His ever-present baseball cap stood out against his dark clothing. A dark gray jacket, black jeans and brown boots covered him. It was already dark out but he thought it best to be as concealed as possible, for his activity.

"What are you doing?!" Kristy whispered harshly from the kitchen doorway, causing Josh to whip around with terror in his eyes.

Josh stood up from his kneeling position and hid the flashlight behind his back. "Nothing. Go away!" He whispered back. He stood next to the sink, holding the flashlight with his right hand and a small spade with his left. He remembered to hide the flashlight but not the spade as his sister walked over and yanked it out of his hand. "Give it back!"

Kristy held it away from him. "A shovel? Doing a little 'late night gardening', are we? You wouldn't want to till the soil over at, oh-say, Matthew's grave. Would you?"

"None of your business. Give it back." Josh reached for the spade, swiping at it as Kristy moved it out of his reach, again.

Lifting the tool over her head and out of his reach, as Josh was shorter than his sister, Kristy shoved him back with her free hand. "It's too late to go out on your own. Besides, mom and Laura already looked and came up with nothing. I'm putting this back, in the basement, and we're going to bed. We'll deal with this tomorrow." She started to walk over to the basement door but paused just before reaching the door as Josh had grabbed her arm that carried the spade and yanked at it.

"Give it!" Josh pulled hard on her wrist and sent the tip of the spade into the bare spot of the wall, on the other side of the door, embedding the tip into the wall and hearing a hollow thump, from behind the plaster. "See what you did, dum dum!"

Kristy's eyes widened at the insult. "Me? You're the one that yanked my arm off!"

"What is this about? Joshua, where are you going at this time of night? Kristin?" Karen stood in the kitchen doorway with her hand on her hips, looking upset to have been so rudely awakened by the racket. "I'm waiting." She stared at both of their faces and then at the spade, still stuck in the wall.

Turning and elbowing her brother, Kristy used her right hand to point to Josh. "He was going to go play in the dirt, at the cemetery."

"Tattletale." Josh murmured.

Karen stepped forward and reached for the handle of the spade. "But first, you decided to sharpen it with the wall. Is that it?" Something that should have removed easily enough, didn't, so she had to wiggle it up and down to loosen the blade before pulling it from the wall, breaking off a large chunk of plaster, in the process. "Both of you will pay to have this fixed, in the morning. Upstairs, to bed." Her temper flared but she calmed herself and didn't let them see the physical anger, as her ex-husband would have.

Kristy leaned over to look at the hole and spotted a light-coloured board, behind the wall. "Hey, mom. There's something back there."

"Just the wall. Good night." Karen turned back and started to walk over to the doorway but stopped when Josh agreed with his sister and started pulling at the surrounding plaster.

Tugging on and breaking off another piece of the wallpapered wall, Josh peaked in. "Hey, there's a knob down there."

Kristy eyed her mother, who turned back around to look at them. "That's a door, mom." She pointed to the wall, where Josh still looked in.

Karen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Fine. I'll call Laura in the morning and see if she knows about it. Now, to bed. School, tomorrow." She waited for them to file past her before shutting off the light and following them back upstairs, turning off lights as they walked.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Karen yawned and turned the corner into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway as she hadn't expected to see Matthew, standing at the hole and peering into the wall. "Matthew! You startled me." A long nightshirt and pink fuzzy slippers with an open bathrobe, which she promptly wrapped closed, had been a sight, along with her unkempt hair from sleep. "Sorry about the wall." She made her way over to the coffeepot and pressed the ON button to start the machine, before walking over to stand next to him and look over his shoulder, at the hole she had created the night before.

Matthew shook his head and straightened from his leaned in stance. "I don't remember this being here."

"The children made it, last night. I made the hole, removing the shovel." Karen looked from the hole to his grim expression.

He turned to look at her. "I'm not worried about the wall. I meant what is behind it. I was very rarely in the kitchen, in those days. To be honest, I hardly ever made it through the door. Forgive me, the kitchen was the woman's place. But, if memory serves, this would be the dumbwaiter, behind here." He pointed to the hole. A pale finger tapped at his chin as he thought. "Angela used it once, upstairs. She sent down a tray for our morning coffee, one morning."

"Dumbwaiter?" Karen forced her lethargic brain to think of the meaning. "A dumbwaiter. Of course!"

"A what?" Josh stood in the doorway and rubbed his eye with a fist. He had fallen asleep in his clothes and jacket as he had been up later than usual, with his thwarted plan to find the evidence Matthew and Tabitha needed.

Matthew turned to look over at Josh. "It was a lift, in the wall, to lift food trays up or down. Sometimes, take soiled linens to the basement, for washing. The twins would ride up and down in it and Marie would always find their toys, discarded in the box." He laughed to himself as he thought back to when he had just moved in and invited his family over for supper. "Why was it covered, though?" He asked out loud, not expecting an answer.

"We were hoping you'd have an answer." Karen responded. Moving over to the cabinet to retrieve a fresh mug, she poured herself some coffee, as the maker beeped its completion.

Again, Matthew shook his head. "I haven't a clue. The first time I came into the room was when Bobbie wanted to sell the house. By then, there was plastic all over and workmen were fixing the flooring and walls." He paused and tried to recall when the door in the wall disappeared. "Emma was here, one day, during the rennovation. She didn't stay long." Matthew vanished from standing next to the basement door and reappeared sitting at the kitchen table, his back to the backyard. "What was she doing here?" he asked himself, his brow furrowed as he stared at the tablecloth.

"Who's Emma?" Kristy yawned and numbly walked over to the refrigerator, opening the door and looking for the orange juice.

"My cousin's wife." Matthew stared at a spot on the table, in front of him. 

Karen walked over to sit across from him, at the table, holding her coffee mug with both hands. "Okay. When was this?"

Matthew shrugged and looked up at her. "I don't know. It was after my uncle came to the house and before they moved in. Possibly, '12 or '13?"

"Hm. Well, I've read through Angela's diary and found her admittance that she did bury something at your grave but, Laura and I searched all over the topsoil and even dug down a good couple of inches but, whatever was there was moved, long ago." Karen sipped her coffee, sighing after each swallow. "Oh, Kris, would you call Laura and..."

Kristy had poured herself a glass of orange juice and replaced the carton to the shelf, in the refrigerator before joining Matthew and her mom at the table. "I texted her when I woke up. She's coming." She yawned again before taking another sip of the cold juice. She stared at her brother, who still poked around the hole in the wall. "You might wanna wait, brat. Who knows what's in that wall." Raising an eyebrow, Kristy watched Josh tug at a piece of the hole but stop when his finger touched something sharp.

After another sip, Karen replaced her cup to the table and glanced over at Josh. "Oh, why don't you two go get dressed. I'll fix some breakfast."

Casting a glance over at Matthew, Kristy gave him a sad smile and stood up, taking her juice with her as she and Josh shuffled back upstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Karen groaned as she pulled another big chunk of plaster from the wall, enlarging the hole so that it was big enough to expose most of the door, including the small flat, round knob at the bottom. In the small minutes between dishing up Kristy and Josh's cream of wheat into two bowls and Laura's arrival, she made a mad dash upstairs and hurriedly changed and brushed her teeth and hair. She now wore jeans and an old T-shrt under a purple flannel shirt. Removing the gardening gloves and reaching for the handle, she yanked up but groaned as the door had become lodged from a century of weathering and rot and warping behind the wall. "Stuck."

"Let me try. Mom does this at the estate. Lots of things get jammed from the weather and such." Laura stood next to Karen and thumped on the door with the side of her fist, several times. Lifting upward on the knob, she had managed to loosen the door, raising it up a few inches before getting wedged off-even. Knocking her fist hard against the right side, which was lower than the left, she was able to break it free from it's catch and lifted it up to half-way. 

"There it is! That has to be the journal!" Josh exclaimed.

All had gathered around to watch Karen reach in and pick up the book with her still gloved hand. She swallowed as Laura lifted the corner with the tip of her thumb and squinted to read the inscription. 

"Elmore T. Jenson." Laura looked up at Karen, both in shock. "This is it." 

The spine of the book cracked as Karen opened the cover wider and turned a few pages, skimming over the words on the page. "Here. 'April twenty-fourth, nineteen hundred five. Matthew draws ever closer with his constant searching. He has become too close twice before and I have been warned of his meddling, by my associates. I have spent two years searching for a distraction for my nephew but, like his mother, Matthew refuses to be detered by anything. I have sent that infernal woman to him, hoping that having a wife will sway him into keeping his nose out of my business. Yet, the woman also works against me. Time has run out and my associate is on his way. I fear for my family and myself. May Matthew forgive me for what is about to happen'. 'April twenty-sixth. It is done. I have murdered my only nephew via Bradford Dowling, Gerald White and Edward Deacon. What have I done to you, Matthew?'"

Not a sound or a breath was heard for a long moment. Everyone seemingly held their breath as the cold, century-old words sank in.

Matthew closed his eyes and bowed his head. When he opened them and looked up, he met eyes with Laura. "What happens now?"

"Now, I take this and Angela's letter to the city court and file an injunction to reopen your investigation that you started working on, before your death. Then, I have your death reopened, investigated and hopefully ruled a homicide. I know, it's a little too late for your killers to be brought to justice but, at least the record will be set straight and you can be at peace. You and Tabitha, both." Laura had already mapped out who to talk to at the courthouse and knew which of the few ears to bend, would listen. 

A sad but grateful smile graced his lips. "Thank you. Thank you all for your help." Matthew felt as if a terrible weight had been finally lifted from his shoulders. He was free. He had forgiven Angela and her role in his death. He had even forgiven his family for their lack of belief that he still remained in the house, as a ghost. And now, his hardest test was to forgive his uncle for the man's dastardly hand that lead to his murder.

Josh looked up at Matthew, confused. "I just have one question."

"Yes?"

"Who put the book in the dummywaiter?"

Karen draped her arm around his shoulders. "Dumbwaiter. I don't think Emma would have had access to it but, I'm guessing it was Elmore's guilty conscience, in nineteen-ten. Why else would he have come to the house, when he closed it up, five years prior? He must have done it around the time that he saw you," looking to Matthew, "in the attic."

Matthew smiled again. "It's all possible."

".... _Matthew_...." A woman's voice filtered in and caught their attention. " _Matthew, my love?_ "

"Angela." Matthew's eyes lit up and he looked around the kitchen, settling his attention on the entryway. He heard his name again and quickly turned to hurry to the foyer, the group following behind. The foyer door and the outside door opened by themselves, revealing a lovely Edwardian dressed, young woman standing in the middle of the walk, waiting for him. Excitement held him as he turned back to look at Karen and Laura and finally Josh and Kristy. "Thank you, dear cousin. Bobbie would be proud." He looked over at Laura as a tear slid down her cheek.

Wiping at the wetness on her cheeks, Laura smiled. "Tell them hi."

Matthew nodded before looking to Josh. "You are a wonderful friend, Joshua, and I thank you for being mine." His eye caught Kristy's as she looked from the open door to him. "Kristin, I should like to have thought my daughter was like you. Beautiful, caring, fun-loving and kind. Don't be discouraged. A good young man is waiting for you, when you deem it right." He looked up at Karen and fell silent. He was thankful for all she had done for him but was unable to express it all, in one moment."Karen,... I owe you thanks for seeing this task through to the end. You promised to help me, and you have. You all have. You are a wonderful mother and woman. I can leave my home in your loving hands." Leaning over, he kissed her cheek softly. His final goodbye was to Tabitha, who stood to his right, and waited patiently.

"Hey, you finally got your wings, kiddo." Tabitha smiled and winked, patting his shoulder with congratulations. "Go be with your girl. I'll be up shortly."

A contented sigh as he and Tabitha hugged and said their goodbyes. Matthew gave them one last look before bowing his head and taking a cautious step out, onto the porch. He stopped on the top step and looked down at the stair, below. Looking back up as Angela opened her arms wide and smiled, he smiled again stepped down the few steps, hurrying into her arms as they both vanished in the morning light.

Tabitha watched her friend of eighty plus years leave and turned back to say her own goodbyes. "Well, my time is up. I can only guess what happened to my fella but, from that bright light, out there, I know where I'm goin'. Thank you, all. You, and Matty, have been more of a family to both of us than my own was to me."

"I'm gonna miss you, Tabby." Kristy sniffled.

Tabitha smiled. "I'll miss you too." She winked. "Someone's gotta bring back the dance. Y'all take care. You probably won't see us but, we'll look in from time to time." She looked back to the doorway, hearing a soft jingle that only she heard. "Gotta go." She beamed a warm smile as they all said their goodbyes to her. Making her way down to where Matthew and Angela had disappeared, she turned and started to dance the Charleston on her way to Heaven.

Josh turned and buried his face into his mother's shirt, wrapping his arms around her waist. Karen patted his back with one hand and wrapped her other arm around Kristy, who also leaned in for a hug. 

Laura stared at the open doorway. The empty walk and the cold Octobre morning. She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself. "I guess I should get this to City Hall." She held the book in her left hand, cradled under her right arm. She was surprised to feel Karen's arm around her shoulders. "I'm glad I got to know my cousin." She nodded.

"Yeah. I am too. How about some coffee?" Karen rubbed Laura's shaking shoulder.

With another nod, Laura wiped at the tear that made it halfway down her cheek. "That'd be great." They turned and walked back to the kitchen as Josh stepped into the entry and stood there, as if waiting for Matthew and Tabitha to come back. After hearing his name come from the kitchen, he wiped the back of his arm across his eyes, in attempt to dry the tears, and shut the door.

 

The End.


End file.
